


Closer Still

by Leszre



Series: /træn’sendɘns/ [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe-Age Bend, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Model!_Elio, Not Beta Read, Older!_Elio, Spy!_Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27076408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: COMPLETED.[ OUTLINE ]After an unexpected meet-cute, Elio and Oliver become extremely close as if they have known each other since childhood. A story takes place where Elio is a veteran model who traveled the world and was on the verge of being jaded by his long, adored by public and crazy successful, profession, while Oliver is a brilliant young man who happened to be at the right place at the right time without intending to, despite his occupation.
Relationships: Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: /træn’sendɘns/ [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992796
Comments: 56
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As with my other fic, this might not be your thing as I tend to spew out unusual interpretations. Even if you don’t like mine, please keep being a valuable fanfam member of CMBYN in AO3. Each and every one of you are important in this fanfamdom world and its continued existence. Grazie!  
> .  
> [ Little Hx ] uhmm… this has been in my logo vault for what…? *mulling the thought* almost as old as some of (or is it majority of you?? hmm??) young fanfams in CMBYN. Crazy thing is… that the description of two main characters matches, miraculously enough, with Elio and Oliver. There are only two people who read this (in the whole~wide~world~) and I was kept being nudged (?!) to post this drabble. So…*large gulp and wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, nervously* here you go, I hope *crossing my fingers and toes* you like it.  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late late night, in an unexpected rain, Elio runs to Oliver's car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **G**

‘ _Why is my phone buzzing again?_ ’ he mumbled internally. Oliver has always been the guy who’d wake up like a light switch. Flip it on, he is out of the bed and up and about to rock and roll. But not tonight. He grunted and fumbled his hand, his arm reaching for the bed side table — the supposed and the usual spot — he placed his phone on.

He groaned.

The vibrate setting on his phone must probably be on high, despite the fact that the mobile was on its face-down position. The persistent buzz continued. Oliver pushed his torso up, scrunching his pillow under his bare chest, finally reaching his large palm on the device. If his phone was buzzing at this hour, it meant the call is from one of his exceptions list. His face squinted, so his eyes would focus on the caller ID. Yep, he was right. A swipe. A swallow. Back of his throat felt like a sandpaper; being overly tired seemed to do that to him, not to mention making his mouth dry like powered chalk.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be fine. Yeah. No problem, man. Yeah.”

A short phone call, as usual. And Oliver got up without hesitation and threaded his arms into a button down before grabbing his dark utility/bomber jacket.

*

**Inside a Huge Opulent Club | Middle of the City**

He was among other models, all genders. It appeared to be a business after-party. Elio looked a bit worn-out; he was pinching the bridge of his nose. Not just because it was late after a hell of a long day, but being involved in this particular project _required_ a certain level of cut-throat business tactics. Of course, no doubt about his personal feelings towards this massive charade wasn’t all that cordial. Others were, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoying that they were getting paid to party. Naturally, they partied hard. As much as he loved his job, the truth-behind-the-glamour wasn’t cutting it for him anymore.

Elio decided to step out from the loud percussion through the back door. The man who appeared to be his manager noticed the back of his unruly curls moving away from the scene. And he called out Elio’s name but it was drowned by the noise. He tried again but Elio disappeared into the crowd.

The establishment’s staff were busy passing him by, not noticing him. Elio kept his head down until he reached the STAFF ONLY entrance. As soon as his long fingers pushed the horizontal metal bar, the thick metal door let out the ear-ringing screech as its hinges were in desperate need for grease. It was raining; quite heavier than usual. He drew in the night air as if he never breathed before. Leaning against the railing of the service door steps, Elio dumped out his chest in relief. Even the musty stench of the back ally didn’t seem to faze him. The fact that he just walked out in this ‘not-in-today’s forecast’ rain added the flavor: to his short escape from reality. It reminded him of the summer rain back in villa. I gotta call them up, don’t I? Elio mulled the thought, maybe I should just go over there, even for a couple days. He lifted his head, closing his eyes. The pattering rain fluttered over his expertly done-up face and his long dark lashes.

Not too far from him, a guy was pacing a bit anxiously, the front of his jacket drawn close by his grip, muttering something under his breath. A bright headlight came around the corner. The guy hopped out onto the street. It appeared that the guy-who-was-pacing-till-just-now recognized the vehicle. Elio wondered why the whole thing caught his attention and that he kept looking. The usual Elio wouldn’t have given a slice of his attention; practically indifferent about his surroundings — especially, when he was standing in the back ally.

A guy got out of the car; tall and wide shouldered, way taller than the other guy. From this distance, Elio couldn’t make out what those two were discussing. And the muffled conversation went on a while two men were exchanging stuff. The guy who was standing a few steps away from him grabbed the other guy by the shoulder. ‘Is it a drug thing?’ Elio thought. The shorter guy nodded, dropping his head. Odd, Elio mulled the thought. Then, it happened.

For some incredible coincidence, the very moment the taller guy turned his face towards Elio’s direction, the stray high beam from the building in front of him shined on his mug. Even through the rain, Elio recognized the guy who drove in. He remembered seeing the taller guy in one of the events. Funny how memory works, Elio huffed at himself. Because he remembered exactly when and where he met the guy; that the taller one was standing where the staff and private security folks were hanging out. He made an impression on Elio because he thought he, the guy who got out of the car, didn’t belong there. Even then, Elio and the guy’s glances met occasionally throughout the entire duration of that event.

Curious.

Tonight, even now, neither of them was acknowledging that they both have a sense of recognition in each other, clearly pretending that the previous occasion didn’t happen. A shared indifference. And the muffled conversation between the two men continued; Elio still observing them from the landing near the back door.

After what looked like a typical guy salute, the taller guy got back in the car. As soon as the other guy jogged away from the ally, Elio ran towards the vehicle without any hesitation, as if something had suddenly possessed him.

.

**Oliver**

When he was about to start the car, a passenger-side door swung open then slammed shut quickly. Oliver was shocked; well, more of a startle, probably closer to taken by surprise. ‘Did I press the open twice? How was it unlocked?’ he thought. The guy carried in the citrusy vanilla scent with him — the rain made it intense— other than the stuffy mixture of weed and sour-tang of booze. He was wearing something quite thin and sheer. Appearing as though he left in a hurry, leaving his belongings at inside the place he took off running from. Parts of his top, since it got wet, clung to his skin and revealed a bit more than Oliver felt comfortable. His lean muscles were showing through.

Oliver couldn’t deny recognizing him anymore. For some reason, he made a split second decision to go along with whatever _this_ was. Well, this wasn’t the first time he drove someone, (Oliver was air quoting _someone_ in his head) so they could get away from their manager or something. Oliver started the car and drove out of the ally. Elio rolled down his side of the window and put his elbow on the door, hand over his mouth. Long slender fingers, Oliver glanced at them. Why they caught his attention, he could not understand. Then, it happened. The guy softly chuckled with a smile. Oliver, with his poker face, blinked at that, feeling his cheeks heating up.

Streets were only lit by the street lights. Stores were only visible by their ‘closed’ neon signs. Oliver patiently waited for the guy to give him direction _to where_ he was supposed to take him. But it never came.

.

‘He must be driving on the back roads.’ Elio thought. He did catch Oliver glancing at his direction yet he never looked. The wind coming in from Elio’s side of the open window carried Elio scent. This time, it reminded him of a cold iced tea he liked. ‘Must be the orange peel.’ Oliver thought. Oliver wasn’t going to pull over in some odd street to ask him where he’d like for Oliver to take him. Recognizing an odd protective instinct towards this stranger who ran into his car in the rain, Oliver found it very unusual. Yet he quickly decided to shrug it off and see how _this_ goes.

They arrived at what appeared to be a town house area. The place looked like a house that people would normally see in busy crowded cities such as New York or London; a narrow-multi-level front with a single entrance door. Houses looked like people in a subway car during a rush hour; a huddled mass that were crammed together from both sides. Same houses that resembled the one after the other but just different door colors. Oliver was glad that the rain stopped, at some point on the way home. The blond parked his car as he did it for hundreds of times on his small drive way. Elio got out of the car as if he knew where he was. The look on Oliver’s face was indiscernible. His eyes followed every move of Elio via the windshield. After a short moment, Oliver got out of his car thinking, ‘ok, I’ll dance with this.’ When Oliver walked up to the building’s front door, Elio stood quietly a couple of steps behind him.

Oliver tried his best not to look back. Elio took a short exhale and followed Oliver inside. Oliver tossed his keys and a wallet to a tray above the antique furniture (curvy one with just as elaborate two metal handles), right inside the entry way. The front door was slowly closing behind. Before Oliver had a chance to turn on the light, Elio pushed Oliver against the wall. A canvas bag dropped and let out a muffled thud.

.

Elio stopped less than a breath away from Oliver’s face. The intense gaze of Elio’s eyes made Oliver’s heart pound against his rib cage. It felt as though someone was tap dancing on his chest. The street light shined in through the fan-shaped window above the front door. And all Oliver could see was Elio’s green eyes gazing right back at his. His hazel layers were threaded so delicately into his green iris. Elio’s lips slowly parted and a tiny warmth escaped through them. Oliver’s heart would not stop trouncing as if he just finished his five-mile run then kept running more. Slowly, Elio’s right fingers traced on top of Oliver’s chest; first the finger tips then first section of his long slender fingers, then second, then third, until his palm touched his chest with a gentle pressure. The body temperature radiating from his palm was distinctly unique that made Oliver feel as though he was being slowly branded by it. With his long lashes in a slow blink, Elio cautiously leaned in closer.

Oliver managed not to break his gaze away from Elio’s bright hazel eyes. He was trying so hard not to flinch or turn his head away. Because, Oliver _wanted_ him to kiss him. He longed for his lips even though he never tasted them. This inexplicable desire toward a total stranger was beyond his comprehension. He never felt his body this warm before. For a split second, that was all he wanted. Baited breaths and him feeling extremely shaky, it felt like the very first time he pulled the trigger. Though his exterior calm and collected, Oliver never knew he’d experience _that rush_ again. And he really wanted this.

Yet, something deep inside him, another voice Oliver never knew he had until this very moment, whispered with a sheer certainty, ‘Steady yourself.’ At the same time, he wished Elio’s hand wouldn’t be so honest and hoped Elio wouldn’t feel the intensity of his racing heart. ‘Oh, for crying out loud,’ he chided himself.

“If you are looking for a one night stand,” Oliver began quietly, “you know the way out,” and he gently grabs Elio’s upper arms. Though spoken softly, he managed to keep some composure. Talk about semblance, he tsked in his head.

Elio froze; suddenly looking so hurt. _That_ look; it hit Oliver hard — like a huge punch in his gut just under his diaphragm. Oliver’s throat bobbed slowly noticing how much taken aback Elio was from what he just said.

“But,” Oliver gave a little pause, while all he so desperately wanted to do was to gently cup Elio’s jaw line with his hand and feel his dimly lit delicate skin. But he steadied himself and continued, “If you need a place to crash tonight, there is a futon.”

Elio’s big hazel-green eyes finally blinked and he backed away pushing his palm lightly against Oliver’s chest. Holing his gaze, steady and unflinching, Elio’s lips finally closed without taking his gaze off of Oliver’s eyes. All these series of actions Elio took felt like a part of an artfully filmed slow motion short clip. ‘God…’ Oliver thought, ‘those eyes.’ They spoke more words without saying any. What was more surprising was that Oliver understood every single verse his eyes were saying.

Oliver was the one who finally broke his gaze away and gave a slight nod, trying to find the next point to put his eyes on. Feign indifference, if he was saying ‘alright, then.’ Oliver lightly (with practiced ease) tapped on one of the switch and soft white floor LED stripe lit along the stair. It was just bright enough for Elio to make out the overall structure of the ground floor. Then, without further words, he walked upstairs, not looking back. Not even a glance. No 'this way,' or 'are you coming?' Elio stood for a while, his eyes trailing along the way Oliver’s broad back moving up the steps. Elio swallowed slowly, lifting his chin slightly. And a tiny smile, only with the edges of his mouth, bloomed on his face.

.

**Elio**

He didn’t particularly recall taking anything other than a couple flutes of _expensive_ champaign. Which was opened way early, before he arrived. Sure, he took a couple of drags but not enough to feel bewitched and crave for a bag of Cheetos. Should I start a conversation? Elio briefly debated. Hi, my name is Elio, we’ve met. You know~, at a place over the thingamajig. No, he shook his own thought away. Though the palpable tension was clearly hanging between them, he felt quite comfortable. Up this close, he looked much younger than Elio remembered. But the last time, his hair was a bit longer, Elio gathered. Very closely shaved around the sides, only the top was mused over by his fingers. It accentuated his facial structure. Wind blowing in his hair, Elio felt as though he could go anywhere with him. The whole ride, the guy didn’t say anything. The un-forecasted rain died out and the mugginess remained.

When the car pulled into a small driveway, Elio was elated. A normal house, surrounded by normal people, it’s like coming home, Elio’s head floated those words as if it was the very place he grew up. There was no resemblance to his home in M or his parent’s summer house in B. Why he felt like he was a five year old at a candy store, he couldn’t understand. He quickly caught himself being too eager _after_ he got out of the car. So he centered himself (or at least tried) and soon was joined by the taller guy.

Not a thread out of place, Oliver appeared so calm and collected to Elio. Definitely a boy scout, Elio thought to himself. This close, Elio now realized that he was a head taller than he. What? six five? A delightful sound of door unlatching, an unexpected scent greeted his nose. Is it cedar?

What happened next was something he didn’t know where it came from. By stature and size, Elio knew he definitely was the one in disadvantage. But he pushed Oliver against the wall. Under the rained bomber jacket (so American, Elio mused in his head), Elio was greeted with a pale blue shirt. A scent of fabric softener radiated shyly as his palm brushed against Oliver’s chest. Three buttons open, no undershirt. Elio threaded his fingers slowly on the soft patch of hair on Oliver’ chest. The light shining through the half-moon window above the front door let something glint. A star of David. Jewish, huh? Elio thought.

Though Oliver’s pale blue eyes steady, his peach fuzzed face incredible still, Elio’s palm could feel his strong heart thumping hard. An odd sense of security it gave, as if Elio was destined to be here. So he trailed his eyes over Oliver’s face. A tug of war: I came this much, now your move. But what surprised Elio was his iron clad resolve. He offered him a choice; the highway or the futon. Elio took in a breath. Right, I didn’t come here for that, what was I thinking? And he gave a little push against Oliver’s chest and back-stepped one stride away from him.

_Alright, I’ll play by your rule._

*

The sun was shining into Elio’s eyes. Elio rustled to resist the sunlight like a little boy. Then, his eyes flew open, noticing there was no sound; other than the one his legs were making against the sheet. Distantly, a muffled thud echoed from downstairs, like a door closing, followed by a series of quick footsteps (as if someone was walking up on the balls of their feet). It made Elio realize where he was. Swiftly, Elio decided to pretend he was asleep: eyes closed, every movement on pause, keeping his breaths slow and even.

Oliver walked in quietly. After noticing Elio was still asleep, he gently walked away. That was the moment Elio got up and started to dress in a hurry. Why he took off this much, he didn’t understand. He muttered something under his breath, struggling to put his boots on the right way. The laces weren’t cooperating.

“uh… Good morning?”

 _Shit,_ Elio came to a screeching halt and screwed his eyes shut. When he looked around after a sharp inhale, Oliver stood behind the couch, looking surprised and a little disappointed. Mind you, the expression was very mild but somehow Elio could feel what Oliver was feeling. But all his brain could think was Oliver standing there with his chest bare over a navy-blue short shorts. Who takes a shower this quick? Elio thought.

“Ummm… I was just…” Elio stammered, couldn’t help but feeling awkward and ended up mumbling instead trying to explain.

“We can get some breakfast–, or a cup of coffee?” Oliver said nonchalantly as he resumed to continue drying his hair with a towel.

Elio smiled and chuckled softly. Instead of busying his hands back with his boots, Elio’s eyes took in the scene. Oliver’s body was well defined; lean and tight. Elio blushed at the diagonal cuts going down from his waist to his shorts.

“What?” Oliver asked softly with a single syllable at Elio’s silence.

Blink, blink. Elio tossed ‘nothing’ and quickly tried to refocus on what he was doing. What was I doing? And he quickly realized that he was acting like a typical ‘the morning after the one night stand.’ After all, _nothing_ happened. Oliver brought out the sheet, the cover, and a pillow. And Elio fell asleep not remembering much after. He was dead sure he wasn’t that drunk. But Elio gathered that he was that exhausted. So he chuckled at himself, thinking ‘old habits don’t die’ in his head in self-mocking reprieve, and decided to put his stuff down. A cycle of breaths visited him and left him with a long low hum.

Oliver sat down in front of him, each of his elbow on his knees, leaning a bit forward. _Only in your shorts? What are you doing?_ Elio thought.

“So…,” was all Oliver said. A one syllable word that was packed with more meaning than Elio could ever imagined.

Yes, Elio was thinking ‘Wow.’ The scent of his after shave, his deodorant, and his shower gel were pouring directly onto him. Oliver’s body heat from a hot shower was still radiating and sipping through his skin. It was intoxicating. What are you? Seventeen? Elio chided himself.

He cleared his throat before he finally managed to say, “Shower,” with his index finger raised gently, signifying _first_. And as if the rest of the words were self-explanatory, Oliver nodded his head once and went on telling Elio of the amenities (?) of his shower. It was really nice to be understood this easily.

.

Oliver and Elio ate breakfast and laughed. And a montage of two of them spending time together played on. Time fly when you have fun, the wise people said. Their time together, albeit minus the sex, was the embodiment of just that. What remarkably sunny two days that was: white clouds everywhere making the summer sun’s intensity bearable. By the mid-morning on the next day, the invisible weighted curtain of mugginess lifted enough to make breathing the heated air manageable. Elio wore Oliver’s clothes, they shared the meals, two drove to the place where non-celebrities go. How extraordinary it was that no one seemed to know or recognize who Elio was. Possibly a clever subterfuge deployed by his manager Menfredi (Menny) in regards to Elio’s whereabouts. A normal life, a normal day, a home he never knew he missed. And Elio couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way.

.

Oliver drove Elio to his condo. He parked across the street from the building as requested by Elio. As forewarned, the supposed 'Elio's destination' street was occupied with people wearing black and their neck slung with a thick camera strap. They were so obvious even tourists could tell their occupation. Well… the fact that this place was not entirely pedestrian had something to do with it, too.

“Thanks for the weekend.”

It was obvious that Oliver was trying to play cool and not to look at Elio before he said “no problem.” Elio smiled running his fingertips over his own lips. And two sat in Oliver’s vehicle for a while. Oliver wanted to remind him that Elio really seriously need to go back to his place. Yet he didn’t say anything. It felt out of place. Sure, Oliver remembered Elio telling him, his manager would murder him as he left without his phone or credit card. Despite everything, the temporariness of it all, that there was more than likely chance that he'd never see Elio again, Oliver wanted this to continue. And he knew he was setting himself up for a disappointment. So, instead, a comfortable silence stayed, a shared agreement without words, like they were saying, ‘a little while longer.’ No words that could be uttered that was suffice enough to convey neither of them wanted this to end. Not just this, being sat in Oliver’s car but the whole thing. Both knew there was something special between them. And Elio of all people was not the one to break this blissful moment. Well, so proved by him not being in a hurry to get out of the car to get inside the building.

The clock on the dash turned into the next hour of the evening. Elio sighed small, through his nose, at that.

“So… let’s do this again.”

Oliver’s face _finally_ turned and it had a look of surprise. Elio couldn’t help himself but to chuckle.

“You should see your face,” Elio commented with a smile.

Oliver relaxed a bit running his palm over his hair, from his forehead to the top. Why that gesture landed as sexy, Elio couldn’t understand.

“You need to stop charming me,” Elio remarked while reaching his long fingers to the lever. Oliver looked at him bewildered. A literal question mark, as so Elio interpreted. Oliver wasn’t trying to charm him and Elio understood that. Well, he did however want to make a good impression on Elio the entire weekend. That much was obvious.

“Maybe I’ll get Menny to book you in one of my photo shoots,” Elio tossed as he got out of the car. Elio gave a little wave of hand, a usual guy good bye, while he was crossing the street in front of Oliver’s vehicle. Though very subtle, Oliver caught the expression of Elio’s face. His dark chocolate curls swaying a little, a lopsided smile (that could easily be misinterpreted as a smirk) colored his face and disappeared as if it wasn’t there. Yet, he knew what Elio meant. Soon, he was swarmed by paparazzi and Oliver could no longer see him. Oliver dumped out his chest and muttered under his breath,

“But how would we do _this_ again? I don’t even have your number.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Thank you for reading, your time and interest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver meeting the famous Menny (Elio's manager): Oliver is woken up by incessant door bell and was rushed over to a world he'd never imagined he'd experience: a day in a life of Elio being a model. And two talk, well, Elio does and Oliver listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **G**

Oliver let out a grunt. He thought he was imagining someone ringing his doorbell, for the fifth time. He slung his hand over his head to reach for his phone. No missed calls. So whoever is at his front door, ringing that damn door bell, wasn’t part of his circle. He fished his elbow out from under his side and reached for the book resting on his belly. The spine of the book denoted its title in other language than English. Coming home after 36 hour-stretch, after his usual eight mile run and a nice hot shower, he couldn’t even bother but to plop right on his couch that early dawn. With one of his trusted book, he figured he’d drift his brain into sleep. Of course, he ended up reading more than half of the book before he finally decided to snooze.

There is that doorbell again, Oliver sighed. He looked at the wall clock. It was more like four pm than three. He usually didn’t dog ear his books but he clicked his tongue (quite remorsefully, in his version of it anyways) as he couldn’t find his go-to book marker. Page 463, Oliver muttered and got himself out of the sofa. He walked to the intercom running his hand over his face then pressed ‘TALK.’

“Yeah?” Oliver winced a little at his froggy voice while palming the right side of his head with a softly clenched knuckle.

“ _I’m looking for Oliver_ ,” the voice had a hint of European accent. Or was his from that side of New York?

“Who’s looking?” With a little furrow between his eyebrows, Oliver tossed the question

“ _My name is Menny. Elio sent me_.”

‘Elio,’ as soon as Oliver heard his name through the intercom, Oliver felt like he was doused with a bucketful of icewater. Now, he was wide awake. And the very next thing Oliver did was to try and take sleep out of his eyes, oh the crummy crust in the corner of his eyes, before he said, “hang on.” This time, the tone of his voice less flat.

Oliver put on a pull-over shirt on top of his t-shirt and went down stairs. He sniffed at his arm-pits and gave a single approving hum as he descended. A few days ago, a new brand he didn’t see before at a local drug store caught his eyes and Oliver decided to give it a try. And he was glad that it was still working. He opened the door and there was this guy wearing a suede beret with a leather vest (in this heat) and just enough jewelry on his hands-and-wrists holding three smartphones, on top of wearing a Bluetooth around his neck, which looked like one of designers’ version of that wearable. A phrase ‘he’s money!’ marquee-d inside Oliver’s head. The guy standing at his front door was talking through it, “yah, yah, I know. Look I gotta go.”

The guy’s giant brown eyes widened and he quickly put on a very show business-ask fake smile. He offered a handshake, “Hi, I’m Menfredi. Everyone calls me Menny. I need to get you to a studio.” Oliver didn’t get a chance to shake his hand since Menny invited himself in and started to get whatever he thought Oliver would need muttering ‘oh, how organized. Here is the key. The wallet.’

“…Whoa, Whoa–, What are you–”

Oliver didn’t even get to voice his discomfort about Menny’s intrusion as he quickly interrupted with, “are you latte kind of guy or straight energy drink? No? Maybe maté? No? You have your phone with you, right?”

“Listen,” Oliver huffed through his nose with a wry expression on his face, “Menny,” and asked calmly, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Menny gave a closed lipped smile. Why the man looked as though he was impressed by Oliver, the blond couldn’t understand. It was verging on him being quite amused, with a not-so-subtle expression of ‘I’ve dealt with kinds of you and wrangled those worse than you are’ and replied, “like I said, Elio wants you. So I’m getting you to him, no. matter. what. Chop! Chop!”

Quite bossy–!

.

They arrived at what looked like a studio set where Elio was getting the make-up done, for the third part of the schedule. Rolling a mint Menny offered on the way with his tongue, an almost-empty large strong coffee cup in his grip (somehow Elio’s manager knew how strong his coffee ought to be), Oliver looked around. Clearly feeling out of place.

On one side of the wall, the 1st and 2nd themes were on display and a team of people(?) were discussing over them, while pointing each digital copies on the screen and having their assistant change the shots one after the other. It looked like they were shooting a collection or entire campaign for an upcoming season.

Menny led him to Elio, with a gentle push of his palm on Oliver’s back. His hand placement on his back was quite skilled; higher than the small of his back lower than the mid-of his back. A confirmation of Oliver’s earlier assessment that Menny, indeed, was a classy guy; money written all over, with years and years of practice, incredibly used to be the one _handling_ people around.

“I got you,” Elio’s manager began, his Blutooth device blinking in interval, “an egg white on sourdough English muffin, toasted, with double tomatoes and spinach, a double shot coconut milk caramel latte extra hot, no foam,” Menny said all of it in a single swoop, somewhat of a rapid-fire yet nonchalant in a bit flat-toned, “Oh, I need to take this,” and walked away plugging his Bluetooth earphone as its illumination changed into different color.

Elio’s hair and make-up were whispering about Oliver’s appearance. Steph (hair) and Connie (make-up) were in the line of sight of Elio, so it was natural for them to notice Oliver first. When they parted to check on the next set of garments for Elio, Oliver couldn’t help but to gasp. Elio looked stunning and _quite_ sparkly. Literally, glitter all over. He didn’t see Oliver yet. Long chocolate lashes were accentuated with the pearl eyeshadows, his skin looked as though he doesn’t have any pores. Elio’s left ear was adorned with some elaborate design ear ring that was long enough to brush the top of his shoulder. His hair appeared as if Elio had just stepped out of the shower or came in from the rain. It took a couple more seconds for Elio’s down casted eyes to lift up. There they were. A set of bright hazel-green eyes looking at him through his lit mirror. Oliver saw Elio’s plump heart shaped lips part. If Elio wanted Oliver here, Oliver pondered, shouldn’t he have noticed when Menny arrived? Or is this Elio a work-Elio? Or did he think I wouldn’t come?

Oliver came to find out it was Elio’s habit; of tuning everything out while being done-up. Because Oliver was literally standing (though a bit awkwardly) right next to him.

“I think I sleep with my eyes open, sometime,” Elio smiled wide and answered Oliver’s question without being prompted as he pushed himself out of the chair.

As if the two had been doing this the whole time, Elio embraced Oliver with a good hug and nuzzled his cheek on Oliver’s. And he whispered into Oliver’s ear, “(sweet baby Jesus), You made it,” like a person who was being chased by time, he carried on quickly by adding, “sorry this was the only way I could see you.” Before Oliver had a chance to take in what was going on, Elio gave a quick peck on Oliver’s cheek as he let go of him. It felt as though Elio did it without thinking it through or noticing his body was doing it.

Funny thing was, as soon as Elio nuzzled his cheek against Oliver’s, his hair-n-make-up went in unison, “Agh, no, we– urgghhhh…”

Oliver stood dazed and a bit shocked by Elio’s unexpected display of affection. Elio sat himself back down, reaching for his twenty-word coffee order. Oliver felt as though he was the only one feeling what just happened was out of the ordinary. Steph and Connie rushed over quickly and fixed up the smudges on Elio’s face and resumed on doing Elio’s hair. Each introduced themselves with a show-biz smile. Without a chance for Oliver to snap out of the bewilderment while being engulfed in the trace of Elio’s perfume (is it his or just make-up thing? Oliver wondered), other crews of prep team came and started taking off Oliver’s shirt.

“Hold on! Hey! Hold on! What??”

One of the staff grabbed Oliver’s face and looked at the side where Elio left a smooch mark. “Oooo~, I like this. Was this your idea, Steph? Connie! What are we going with–? Oh, yeah. Over there?”

.

The number on the giant digital clock on the studio wall was adding up to Midnight. ‘Funny,’ Oliver thought, still looking up at the clock, feeling his heavy eyelids blink. It designated AM as big as the numbers. ‘Almost eight hours have come and gone.’ Sure, Menny and Oliver hit the rush hour traffic on the way here and whatever happened between with him getting tall order of things from here then there, then meeting Elio without getting any chance to talk. Oliver gathered that if a photo shoot took this long, he’d think twice about judging models and their world. Oliver palmed the top of his head. Menny was yelling and flailing his hands all over.

Elio came out from the other side where it appeared to be a bathroom— this time in a loose and less flashy clothing, his hair only towel-dried. He must have washed his hair in one of the sinks in there, Oliver gathered. Elio walked towards where crews were who were busy packing up. Elio pecked his smooches as goodbyes and hugged his staff, while Oliver was standing feeling a bit out of place and the crews miraculously moved around him as if Oliver wasn’t there. Once all the niceties bartered and pleasantries exchanged, Elio was able to walk towards where Oliver was. Elio had a look on his face, though extremely exhausted (a bit peaky), that he somehow caught the gawkiness Oliver was feeling. Elio gave him a soft smile and tossed an upward glance through his still damp ringlets of unruly curls that were falling over his face. He parted his mouth as if he was about to say something when Elio’s manager came over.

“(Here is your key and I parked it on the third level),” Menny began—Oliver now confirmed that Menny is Italian or fluent in its language—and arched his eyebrows in a way ‘I’m way ahead of you, sport’ when Elio was about to open his mouth again with a question, “(No, no. don’t worry. I’m going to _make sure_ his face gets left out. Yes, and his name, too. Isn’t that why I still do all the first year PA things for you?) Hmm? And you,” Menny swiftly turned around 90 degrees to Oliver with his index and third fingers pointing at his direction, this time speaking in English, “my new sexy hunk, expect the check in the mail within two weeks. If things go well, we’ll sit down and talk,” and gave two chummy-chummy light tabs on Oliver’s cheek, as if a grandmother would.

Then he turned back to Elio and gave him two pecks: one on each side. Elio simply chuckled, and said, “Grazie, Menny,” before he let go of him.

“Yeah, yeah–. (now get outta here),” Menny remarked with very European gesture to Elio & Oliver before he swiveled on the heels of his foot, the back of his hands on either side of his waist and went, “what is this? No, no. This is unacceptable!”

Oliver just blinked while Elio lightly shook his head. A familiar citrusy vanilla floated up to Oliver’s nose. Why that scent suddenly (and strangely) made him feel at ease, Oliver couldn’t understand. Yet, he was glad at the awareness of his brain that registered this particular scent mixture as Elio.

It was Elio who grabbed Oliver by his hand, nonchalant and extremely casually, and led him to the elevator. As soon as Elio pressed the DOWN button, the third door on the other side of the elevator platform opened. Elio led Oliver and he simply followed.

Once they were in, Elio sensed something being awkward. There was a light moisture building between their palms. That was when Elio realized and went, “oh, I’m sor–,” and began the motion of letting Oliver’s grip go.

Oliver’s large (nervous) hand chased after Elio’s loosening fingers. And he slowly took Elio’s hand into his and lifted just a smidge, Elio’s hand on top. Elio only blinked while Oliver gently released their hold, opened his fingers, and aligned with Elio’s; keeping his gaze at back of Elio’s hand. Elio quietly let out a huff through his nose as Oliver slowly interlaced his fingers with Elio’s. A delightful ting from the elevator was the feather in their nuggin' or two wouldn’t know what they have done in there. Oliver chuffed quietly in a way to say, ‘well, that was quick.’ Elio didn’t say anything but started walking. With muffle mechanical echo of vehicle doors being unlocked, two parted: Elio towards the driver’s side, leaving Oliver in front of the heavily tinted SUV. Elio peered his head to the side a little with a look, ‘aren’t you getting in?’

“So where are we going?” Oliver asked turning on the ball of his feet.

To that, Elio gave him a teeth wide smile and said, “you’ll see.”

.

It was quite a surprise for Oliver: watching how Elio was driving. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but seeing Elio drive like any other dude Oliver knew landed as if it was something Elio wouldn’t normally do. By the time, Elio turned two left- and one right- turns (using only the heel of his right hand), Oliver was drenched in Elio’s citrusy vanilla scent. At least that’s how he felt he was right then. Windows down, his left arm nonchalantly perched on the rim of the door, wind in his hair: his _gorgeous_ unruly chocolate curls. Though with no music or radio on, there was no need for words. No awkwardness about the silence between them. Two people simply occupying the same space together seemed enough. How can this be? Oliver pondered.

In about fifteen more minutes, they arrived at a diner. It was a typical business plaza where several small shops and restaurants were aligned like Lego blocks. Nothing fancy, no Michelin stars.

“Erh…are they open?” Oliver asked when Elio shifted the SUV in park.

Elio huffed softly first, “no,” and smiled at Oliver, his curlier hair lightly swaying at his motion, “let’s just say I have some connection.”

Elio led Oliver to the back ally, instead of the front of the building, and knocked on the STAFF ONLY service door.

.

Crazily enough, a woman whom appeared to be at her late 50s opened the door. And as soon as she saw Elio’s face, she flung her arms wide open, pulling him into a mama bear hug to her favorite adult son, and started saying how wickedly good it was to see him. Elio let himself enveloped in the woman’s embrace close, returning a good firm hug, smiling ear to ear. She said something in lines of Elio was still too skinny and the wind would snatch him away. Elio quipped back. Oliver blinked: huh, Spanish, too?

“Mama, this is Oliver. Oliver, this is Sara Ana,” Elio introduced them. He pronounced her name, | Sa-dah-ah-na |.

Sara Ana said something and Oliver couldn’t catch all as she went ‘¡Ándale!, ¡Ándale!’ and welcomed them inside. Elio’s cheeks were tinted in light pink making him look more lively for some reason. Once inside, Elio went, “order whatever you want! Mama would make anything for us,” as they sat in one of the booths.

Oliver was bewildered yet felt excited and glad at the same time. His long finger pointing at the title of each dishes, Elio recommended some items from menu explained what they were. And Oliver just sat quietly (and attentively) watching Elio.

“What? no mas?” Sara Ana teased as she brought out another fresh plate.

“No, Senora, if I have more, I'll have a third and then one more after that.”

She turned her head to Elio and two exchanged something that made Elio blush. Oliver ventured by her hand gestures and some key words that she said something in lines with Oliver being taller but no man’s stomach. There was something about whether Elio was sure Oliver could perform.

“Boy, you can eat,” Oliver said coolly sipping on the rest of guava juice.

Food on the table was almost gone (three dinner plates were stacked on Elio’s side) and Elio was sipping on almost half melted milkshake, the second large glass. Elio’s face showed a pleasant satiety. Oliver couldn’t help letting out a quiet sigh feeling content and relaxed. What happened next was not something Oliver expected.

Elio leaned against the high-back of the pleather booth, almost draping himself over, shoulders lax, back of his head rolled lasily side to side against it, almost like nuzzling. With a sense of him being in a hypnotic trance, he looked so comfortable And he began telling Oliver of the story about his life; that he was discovered at 16 while his parents were going through a rough patch of their marriage, that he found out his best friend from childhood, Marzia who is 18 months older, was actually his half-sister from his mother side, that once his career launched a year after his dorm-ask life in Paris their parents decided to go separate ways and his mother (Annella) married Marizia’s father (the Perlman’s best friend from college).

Elio chortled forlornly, his lashes casting low, “ironic thing is that Marzia’s father was the one who introduced my dad to my mom.”

And Elio unspooled how his life was in Milan, where he met Menfredi, his gig in Dubai that turned into something way bigger than he’d ever dreamed of.

“Then, I was stupid and decided to fall for this tycoon,” Elio added with a quirk of lips on his left side. Though Oliver sensed not-so-pleasant ending coming, he kept himself quiet and lent his ear. Apparently, Elio was in May-December relationship with a lawyer turned venture capital mogul who was twice his age.

“I didn’t know Michel was buying me, my attention, my time, my affection. I was naïve, then. Sometimes I feel like I still am. Not seeing him for who he truly was. Menny went beserk when he found out about me and him. He warned me. And I didn’t listen. I told Menny that he was wrong and Michel would never do such a thing.”

The extent it took for Elio to be free of Michel’s grip was horrifying. Oliver swallowed hard. The things Elio had to do to get his career back on track as he was bombarded by Michel’s cunning strategy to bury Elio from the model industry; that it took almost five years for him just to get a $300 gig (of which such a disgracefully dismal amount for a model of Elio's caliber, even then); that Menny was the one who funded him out of his own pocket for Elio to go door-to-door with his portfolio.

When all was said and done, two sat without words—Elio looking down at his hands, fidgeting his fingertips, anxiously. Oliver sucked in a large breath through his nose.

“…why are you telling me all this?”

His brilliant hazel-green eyes lifted. And without a shred of hesitation, or a blink, Elio held Oliver’s gaze before he said, “because I wanted you to know.”

Oliver froze, or that was how he felt.

“Because, there is no one else in this world I can say it to but you.”

_Because you are kinda sorta basically, pretty much always, on my mind since I last saw you._

_Because from the moment I felt your heartbeat on my palm that night, I knew you will be very important in my life._

_Because I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes._

Neither at the table said anything. With his eyes wide (though only a little), Oliver appeared to repeat Elio’s words slowly, trying to take in their full meaning, all the while sorting them out, playing for time by repeating the words. The iron, for all Elio’s concern, was burning hot.

“(My dear boy, time to go!)”

A saving grace. Because Elio was about to interrupt their silence and revert the pause in their conversation by saying something about the sea by his parent’s summer villa in B and the weather tomorrow and whether it might be a good idea for him to take off for a couple of days.

Sara Ana and Elio exchanged hugs and pleasantries, first. Oliver thanked her three times (profuse for the _usual_ Oliver) before he too got big mama hug exiting through the back door. She did whisper, ‘do be kind to him,’ before she let him go of her embrace. Being a boy-scout, Oliver offered a firm yet a singular nod to her before he followed Elio out. Elio lazily stretched his long slender limbs and let out a long and low yawn. Then a wide grin followed. When they were about to reached the parked car, Elio held out his softly clenched hand in front of him abruptly, Oliver looked at his direction with a mild puzzled look.

“I can’t drive. Too full. I’m about to fall asleep.”

Oliver chuckled with a grin and held his palm out. Elio’s face turned into a cheeky grin with a ‘okay’ look. Oliver was sure he didn’t imagine Elio’s fingertips intentionally brushing against the flesh of his palm as he let go of the key.

“So where to?” asked Oliver before pressing on the ignition button once both got in.

Elio made himself comfortable: first, a click of a seatbelt, then closing his eyes and resting his head slightly on the side. Oliver simply sat there as the engine purred and the dashboard’s light auto adjusted.

After a cycle of breath, Elio said:

“Can I crash at your place?”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Always, Thank you for reading, your time and interest.   
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Oliver's place, though sparks flying, Olive hesitates and Elio knows exactly what he is worried about.

Oliver parked the SUV in his drive way. He sat in his seat, reached his hand over and pressed the power button; the ignition quietly turned off. At some point on the way home, Elio leaned his seat back a little, shucked his left shoe off, and tucked his bare foot under his right thigh just above the back of his knee. Then he slung his arm over his forehead, covering his eyes with the inside of his forearm and started to snooze. And the whole ride, he didn’t even move a muscle.

Oliver unbuckled his seat belt quietly, letting it hook around the flesh between his thumb and index fingers so it’d slowly retract. Once he unhanded the metal of it, Oliver leaned his head back on the high-end fabric of head rest. Slowly the headlight, the dash board light, and his driveway lights went off. Oliver soundlessly shimmied a little to lean further back into his seat. A rhythmical movement of his chest continued and the interior glass surface of the vehicle slowly began to fog. His thoughts moved inward while the bustling movement of trees and shrubs on the street from the outside became faint white noise. Nothing particular nor vague, yet, Oliver realized how comfortable he felt around Elio. Huh, he chortled softly under his breath. Elio’s chest heaved to its maximum and his body moved as if to get himself a bit more comfortable was when he startled himself up. Oliver could literally tell each pace of Elio coming into a wakeful state. His sleepy eyes focusing on the fogged window, sticky (and a little heavy) eyelids from sleep, a little creak in the neck.

“…are we there?” Elio asked, his voice a tad damp and low from sleep. So he moved on to clearing his throat quietly, releasing his left foot from under his right leg.

Oliver just nodded slightly with a low ‘mm-hm,’ only vibrating his vocal cord.

Elio ran his fingers through his hair said, “I’m sorry,” in a way ‘for how long did you let me sleep?’ and ‘you could have woken me, I wouldn’t have minded’ with gawkiness and apologetic sheepish smile.

To that, Elio only heard another ‘mm-hm’; this time with a light shake of his head in ‘no,’ and added, “don’t be.”

Elio huffed through his nose as he broke into a lazy long stretch of which made Oliver feel like he was the one doing the stretch. With a wide yawn, Elio tossed a rhetorical, “who said the chivalry has died?” and ran his palms over his face while saying, “Thank you.”

“For what?” What a stupid question, Oliver thought as soon as he uttered it but his mouth just ran without conferring with his brain.

Elio tilted his head and his magnificent chocolate curls whiffle-waffled playfully, brushing over his forehead in a way stirred an urge in Oliver. The right hand on his lap flinched as he so desperately wanted to reach out and run his fingers over-n-into them himself, caressing his curls and drawing a broad thumb line over his skin there. Oliver’s throat bobbed slowly, and he did catch Elio’s lopsided grin. After a meaningful audible inhale,

“For making my day more bearable and going along with the craziness,” Elio replied low.

Is it the trick of light? Oliver thought he saw Elio blush a little.

Oliver let out a small hum before he said, “Ready?”

After two thuds of typical vehicle door closing, two went to the house in the same way like the first day they met three weeks ago. A step behind, Elio stood while Oliver inserted his key and twisted it open. When Oliver was done laying down his stuff and the SUV key, Elio was presented with something he didn’t expect. Oliver simply turned his head over his shoulder and reached back his left hand toward Elio. Low at his thigh level. A smile bloomed on Elio’s face as his left hand unfurled to take Oliver’s invitation; nestling the back of his left hand into Oliver’s warm welcoming large palm and gently interlaced his fingers with Oliver’s. For some reason, his right hand followed and covered the back of Oliver’s hand swiftly. And Elio simply leaned his body (right shoulder) on Oliver’s broad back, burying his right cheek there, nuzzling his nose the next. The extreme closeness it created. Elio heard Oliver taking a lungful of breath through his skin. Sure, Oliver was a bit startled but, to Elio’s relief, he held Elio’s hand without a hint of waver and gave a slow squeeze. It was Elio’s turn to take a lungful. Oliver pulled their interlaced hands a little closer to his body before he pivoted on his left foot. Just like that first time, they stood facing each other. As if they were doing this all along, Oliver gently put the interlaced hands on his chest. Elio’s head tilted up, his eyes taking in Oliver’s face: his thick firmly corded neck lines, nice wide-n-defined mandible, a stubble growing on his skin there, softly parted lips, the nice-n-straight philtrum under his nose. When his hazel-greens met his pale blues, Oliver dumped out a soft breathless sigh-like word; something a little more than a whisper:

“God––,” and the way Oliver was gazing into Elio’s eyes was something no single word could explain. Yet, Elio understood them.

His palm on Oliver’s chest, feeling his beating heart, Elio peeled his right hand from the back of Oliver’s hand and placed it next to their interlaced hands on his chest. The warmth of Oliver’s body temperature felt like a thing of marvel. Then, Elio’s right palm began exploring that surface: the contour of living and breathing Greek statue. When his touch reached around Oliver’s lower rib area, Oliver let out an involuntary-n-muffled ‘mmph’ in pain with a slightly flinch on his face. Elio’s eyes widened. Just as quickly, Oliver’s face softened and his face formed a reassuring smile as if to say, ‘it’s nothing, don’t worry.’

Whether it was the unintended reluctance or intended tension, the air between them was like the calm before the storm. Every and all motion or gesture were hanging on a finespun string. The short quickened breaths, the inexplicable desire brimming over the rims of their being, and the bottomless yearning no words could describe were filling the space and time between them. Finally, (undoubtedly, of course) Elio was the one who gave in and leaned forward, arching his chest against Oliver as his lips _happily_ found Oliver’s.

It started as lips-only chaste and soft kisses. The perfect mixture of light touch followed by a gentle lick on Elio’s top lip only with the tip of his tongue. The corner of Elio’s lips tipped upwards at that, before he parted his mouth in an open invitation, lulling his tongue slow over Oliver’s. It earned him a low rumble from Oliver’s chest and Elio could taste the lingering sweetness of the guava juice. Oliver knew when to pause between kisses which only made Elio more desperate for his lips. Elio moaned and gasped; it was completely spontaneous and involuntary. And he found himself getting lost in it—it felt _that_ good.

“I missed you,” Elio confessed into Oliver’s mouth, lulling his tongue and capturing Oliver’s upper lip into his.

The low chuckled emanated from Oliver’s mouth and he encircled his sturdy firm arm around the back of Elio’s shoulder. How effortless it felt when Oliver’s forearm scooped up Elio’s mid-back: right under his shoulder blades. It earned Oliver a louder moan from Elio as he started grabbing/twisted the hem of Oliver’s crew neck shirt. He secretly wished that he could just melt into Oliver. Eventually, Elio let go of his hand, freed it from between their flushed chests, and roped his arm around the back of Oliver’s nape. Oliver bowed his upper back forward a little to compensate for their height difference. One deep incessant smooching sound after another, two were getting light headed. For some reason, Elio was the one who broke this enchanted heady moment. Biting his swollen-pink lower lip, his chest heaving a beat too fast, Elio went:

“Okay, okay, too fast, too fast,” a stray curl brushing over his eyes. To that, Oliver only nodded quickly, acknowledging in total agreement.

To Elio’s dismay, something that sounded a lot like a whine escaped his own closed lips. Something verging on pitiful when someone was struggling to resist the temptation. Oliver’s eyebrows drew close, in a mixture of concern and uncertainty. Elio huffed through his nose at Oliver’s face expression and spat a quick whisper of, “uft, fuck it.”

.

How two came upstairs was a messy business. Oliver stumbling as he back-stepped up, almost tumbling over one another, reaching the walls for balance as neither of them were willing to let go of each other’s lips. On top of the steps, Elio pushed his hand into Oliver’s trousers through the half open front. Oliver hunched forward, though he grinned as he sucked on Elio’s mouth. Impatient, are we? Oliver thought.

“If you keep that up,” his words got caught between their passionately winded kisses, “I might not last.”

“Such thing you say,” Elio teased, “you’re like– twenty two?” thrumming his fingers around Oliver’s erection, snuggly trapped under the waist band of two different fabrics.

“Twenty four,” Oliver corrected into Elio’s mouth between kisses as his body lurched at the sensation.

Elio let out a drawn out mused sound, carrying on teasing him, “you didn’t even hit your prime yet, how lucky am I?”

With a juicy kissing sound, Oliver pulled away and Elio’s head leaned forward, chasing after his lips. When Elio’s lips happily landed on Oliver’s, Oliver muttered, “I’m serious,” in a what-Elio-later-coined-as ‘pouty Oliver’ tone.

Elio grinned wide and whispered, this time modulated tone with no hint of tease, “okay,” with a nod. And he reached up his hand and gently caressed the messed up hair of Oliver’s (a fine work Elio had done) before he said, “I’m nervous, too, just so you know.”

Oliver blinked quickly twice, “ehrr… do you wan––?” and did not finish his question. Why was it so hard to say ‘ _Do you want me to stop?_ ’ Oliver wondered in his head. Yet, Elio understood it and shook his head.

.

It was the most absurd thing. Oliver knew, by the regulation and the rules, he was clean. The last test was six months ago: a part of his required physical. It was not that he was particularly worried about Elio, Oliver quickly gathered. What he was worried about, actually, was that the last time he had sex with someone was last November. Not quite a year ago but things happened, and he was busy. Oliver never was the type who was interested in sleeping-around just for the sake of sex. And the stupid head of his raffled through whether the stash of the condom were still good. What is the usual shelf life?

“…where are you?” Elio whimpered delicately into Oliver’s mouth, as he languidly sucked off Oliver’s lips, before looking up at him. How Elio knew such things, that his mind wandering off to some bs subject too pragmatic enough to be a mood kill, Oliver couldn’t understand. Yet he went, _Of course, he noticed_ , keeping the thought to himself.

“Uhm…do you mind if I shower first?” said Oliver, not knowing where to put his gaze. His hazel-greens were so mesmerizing and so intense.

“Pffttt––,” Elio began, then he broke into a laugh-out-loud ‘ha–, ha–, ha– belly laugh.

“How–” Elio managed to say the beginning of a rhetorical question, in between laughs, “you’re so damn adorable, you know that, right?”

Oliver kneaded his eyebrows in bewilderment though he was smiling.

“After Sara Ana’s cooking, two milkshakes, me falling asleep in the car in-between, and you are worried about B.O.,” and Elio plopped himself in the sofa and tossed up one of cushions aiming at Oliver’s face. Oliver caught it and casually threw it back to him with a smile.

Elio took in a large breath, putting a decorative square-pillow under the back of his head, and sighed out long and loud. Not even fazed by the bulge of his front tautly tenting his slacks, Elio kept his knees wide and simply looked up at Oliver. Adoration and lust mixed in a quite astonishing way. In honest truth, Elio could guess what Oliver was thinking. Instead of being offended, Elio actually found it endearing. Well, more like enamored by his sincerity, frankly. To him, Oliver basically declared that whatever between them wasn’t casual; that it wasn’t hit-it-n-leave-it case. So we are starting with that talk, are we? Elio’s eyes said. Elio brushed his lower lip with the tip of his forefinger. To that, Elio saw Oliver clench his jaws. Hmm, Elio mused quietly in his head. No matter how much of a poker face or stoic Oliver had been, it was _very clear_ to Elio that Oliver wanted to fuck tonight, as much as he did. When the tip of his tongue touched the edge of his thumb remembering how Oliver tasted was when he heard Oliver groan, screwing his eyes shut. Okay–, okay–, I’ll stop, Elio thought, his lips quirking as he tried his best to hide his amusement.

.

Next morning, when Elio woke up, he saw a note on the bedside table. It was propped up neatly, so that Elio would find it easily.

\ ‘Sorry, Something came up at work. Make yourself at home! Call me if you need anything 000-0000-0000 Oliver’ \

Elio was lying on his belly wearing Oliver’s shirt. He squinted his eyes to focus on the clock on the wall. He hissed as he rolled over on his back. And Elio couldn’t help himself from chuckling through his nose, recalling their first night together.

**Last night**

Why Elio decided to plop on Oliver’s couch, he couldn’t quite understand. The question Elio wanted Oliver to ask wasn’t ‘ _did I want him to stop?’_ or ‘ _did I mind if he take a shower?_ ’ Rather, Elio wanted him to ask, _Do you want to take this to the bedroom?_ Better yet, he’d wished Oliver’d simply take him to _his_ bed: Oliver room, Oliver bed, Oliver sheet.

Elio wanted to _never_ stop kissing him or holding him, then it became a singular idea. He was not going to undress just yet. Nor was he going to tear his clothes off the way they do in the movies; well~, though the idea itself was very tempting.

_Is he waiting for my answer? Or… are we enjoying this delectable tension, a standstill, between us?_

The look on Oliver’s face was just… gorgeous. He is definitely a boy scout; asking my permission to go take a shower in his own house, Elio thought. Putting the implied meaning aside, Oliver was softening the blow (nicely) by giving a pause before they’d move on too quickly. So, Elio clicked his tongue, feigning a begrudging acquiescence: might have rolled his eyes a little.

“Then,” Elio began, leaving out the obvious yet unimportant, ‘before you shower’ part and continued, “I want to see you naked.”

Oliver blinked, his lips parting only just. Elio shrugged nonchalantly.

“I just want to see. Take off the T-shirt, the shirt, the pants, the boxer,” Elio carried on his eyes trailing over Oliver’s body matching the name of the clothing his mouth was saying, from top to bottom, deliberately and purposefully slow. And he tipped his chin just a little when he said, “that shoes,” arching his eyebrows up towards the hairline. _That too proper semi-dress shoes._

Oliver dropped his head, trying to hide the burgeoning blush on his cheek, as if he was curious as to why Elio wanted his shoes off.

“Even the shoes and the socks?” Oliver quipped, his tone mild.

Elio nodded, his curls swaying handsomely with the motion. So Oliver listened, offered no resistance, and proceeded to undress, until he was all naked, standing barefoot on the well-cared area rug that must have been vacuumed countless times and dry-cleaned regularly.

He must work out, Elio ventured in his head. Nice lean long lines running along his stature, well-defined muscles, neatly trimmed thatch of chest hair. Elio ran his palm over his lips, cupping his own jaw. Oliver huffed with a wry smile.

“You like?” he asked.

Though hours were far along into early dawn, the living room was facing the large window to the street. Although dimly lit by the floor light, being the second floor, if someone were to peer in from across the street, they could easily see _this_ , Oliver’s striking naked form. But then, _Let them_ , Oliver’s body language said.

Hmm–

Placing both hands behind the nape of his neck, Elio assumed the pose of _that guy_ in a strip club and slung his preferred leg over, resting the ankle of his bent leg on the other knee. Oliver snorted out a huff through his nose. Elio bucked his hip up, pursing his lower lip just a little with a low rumbling moan, in ‘me like––.’ Then, he sucked in a lungful of breath and,

“I don’t want shame, I don’t want secrets. Everything out tonight. No shower, no brushing of teeth, no mouthwash, no deodorant, no anything. I don’t want a shred of living wedge between us, or between us and the world, because I want the world to know us for who we are together. Otherwise there’s no point, and I might as well go back to Menny.”

Oliver’s mouth responded first, almost looking like an unconscious reflex, “don’t go back to Menny.”

Elio pulled his lips together and briefly gave a tight smile, “then, ask what you _really_ want to ask.”

Oliver blinked once, his firm erection still looking absolutely stunning, holding Elio’s unwavering gaze. As if to answer, he tendered his left wrist to Elio, inviting him to stand up in front of him. So Elio released his grips from the back of his head as he swung his leg down and pushed himself up off the sofa. In two strides, he was standing in front of Oliver. The heat simmering up from his skin was so palpable. Up this close, Elio could see his body hair were stretching outward, particularly on his chest and his arms. A little chilly. Despite the slight disquiet filling between them, Oliver held his resolve (the poker face), though his chest was bellowing a half a beat faster.

“Because of the work that I do, I am required to get tested periodically and uhm… I’m clean,” Oliver finally said.

Hm, too considerate for your own good, Elio thought. Because by Oliver saying it that way, he knew Oliver was saving Elio from being put in the spot if it were in a form of question. Yet, the intention was crystal clear enough. Elio huffed softly through his nose and tilted his head up meticulously before he took a half of a step closer to Oliver.

“Because of the work that I do,” Elio raised his arms and cupped the edges of Oliver’s broad shoulder into his palms, brushing his cheek over Oliver’s, not touching, not nuzzling, but hovering just close enough. If he still had his peach fuzz, they’d brush against Oliver’s, “I am required to get tested periodically, for insurance reasons.”

When his warm palms traced the outline of his shoulder to neck, Elio bracketed his wide-spread fingers on Oliver’s good strong neck and his lower jaw.

“That was three months ago,” Elio added softly.

Oliver let out a shuddering breath and Elio’s entire fabric of being felt the sum of his shudder vibrating through Oliver’s body. The touch was definitely a thing of a marvel.

.

What followed was truly a frenzy. Not as well choreographed as the one people see in the movie.

“Off, off, off,” Oliver said between his baited breaths as he tried his best to get Elio free from his clothes.

Elio, too, was trying so very hard to get his buckles undone and relieve his legs from a pair of his go-to designer slacks he got a year ago as a gift after a runway show in Paris. It was clear to Elio that Oliver wanted to take this to his bedroom. But Elio spent last three weeks since their first meeting, imagining this moment. So he pushed Oliver onto the couch and Oliver landed with a muffled grunt.

“Shut up,” Elio growled with a lopsided grin as he leaned forward to resume sucking his face.

Once he finally fished his ankles from the bunched up underwear and pants, he kneeled down in between Oliver’s long legs, running the tips of his blunt nails slowly on the top of Oliver’s thighs. Oliver’s chest rumbled as he reach out his large palm over and cupped the side of Elio’s head. How nimble his fingers were swimming through Elio’s unruly curls.

Elio moaned, gritting his teeth in a complete arousal, “(oh, my god–),” he raptured, hooking his nose right along the shaft of Oliver’s leaking cock. Something only him filled Elio's olfactory sense and he absolutely loved it. His inside lurched with an inexplicable high and satisfaction. Just as immediately, he felt his own primal being becoming a tad too impatient, urging him to hurry up and take what was rightfully his. So he opened his mouth wide and wrapped his hot tongue around the erection.

“Mhmmm––,” though muffled, Elio blissfully moved his head along the vertical line slow, shutting his eyes close. Long lashes fluttering fast like the delicate wings of a butterfly, his eyes rolled languidedly under the almost too supple flesh as his mouth found its way. First, down south all the way to the hilt. Then, up north to what-appeared-to-be ever swelling length. Elio realized it grew at least a half an inch more; and he reveled on that.

“Holy––,” Oliver gasped when Elio’s right hand joined the motion of his head, pressing his throbbing erection closer to Elio’s sizzling wet mouth.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –a little bit of _Find Me_ chapter 1  
> –I briefly mentioned in one of the comment reply that this AU (as ancient as it is) carries a certain level of protectiveness from me, more so than any other ones I posted here. Mainly, because of the deep vulnerability attached to it. I found as I re-read each chapters I could see the stages of me and my psyche imbued within (though nothing here are direct representation of my personal life). So... I cannot promise anything but, their first time did proceed to a shower sex that was not only good in real life but also look good on camera. *cheeky grin* And~~ (as far as the whole of this AU goes) In a gist, Elio and Oliver get together-together (of course *rolling eyes with a funny eyebrow movement of 'duh!?'* ) and the story spans two generations. They have a twin via a surrogate mother (some of you already know by whom). Michel (Elio's ex) is really cray-cray and meddles in ElliOllie's life.  
> .  
> As Always, \Thank you/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> Please stay well, stay healthy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts a few months later, after another season has changed, at the cusp of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **G** (maybe T?, because of implied meanings?!)  
> .  
> ._._._. denotes reverie.  
> 

Sun just said goodbye and went over the horizon. The scenery let go of the dark-blue-grey-hued-dusk quite hurriedly and turned midnight black. If it wasn’t for all those light sensing street lights, this early evening would probably feel more like late night. The brisk winter wind was making pedestrians who dared to be outside at this temperature to raise their coat collar, shrink themselves with their shoulders pulled together, and hug themselves in to keep warm. Oliver walked across the four lane road wearing something a bit thin for the weather. Tip of his nose already red but there were no gloves. Sure, his jacket collar was up but it didn’t look like it was doing much to help fending out the chill. It appeared that he was away somewhere for a couple of days in a different climate and didn’t expect a sudden drop of temperature when he came back to state side. Hence, the fall jacket. His steps carried him into a little hole-in-the-wall eatery. Inside, there were only a couple of people sitting in small tables. Atmosphere was comfortably relaxed and quiet. Elio came out from the kitchen wearing an apron like it was tailored just for him (a look that you would easily see in a high-end restaurant), when he heard the cheery trill cling of the bell on the entrance door. Oliver took a seat in one of the empty table. Elio came over casually.

“What can I get you?”

Their eyes met like that of strangers but no particular acknowledgement was exchanged.

“Coffee. Decaf if you have ’em,” Oliver replied with a soft smile.

“You’re in luck. We just put a new pot on,” said Elio jotting down the order on the pad.

Elio left a copy on the table, gleefully turned around, weight on the ball of his feet, and walked to the kitchen. Moments later, Elio brought a couple of scones with a warm cup of coffee. After placing the two on the table, Elio all too naturally brought the sugar and peach jam packets closer to Oliver. He then placed the serving tray on the other side of the table, grabbed a chair, turned it around, sat down straddling, and leaned his front on the back of the chair, sitting diagonally from Oliver. Since the dimension of the table was so small, Elio’s knee was almost touching Oliver’s. Oliver put both of his elbows and forearms on the table. Then, he leaned forward and towards Elio and their foreheads almost touched. A soft smile colored Elio’s face. Oliver tilted his head a little and _finally_ laid a kiss on Elio's cheek.

“Hi…,” Elio whispered warmly leaning on Oliver gently.

“Hiyah back,” Oliver smiled with his cheek on Elio’s.

Elio chuckled. Though his cheek still held the chill of the outside, he was glad to feel Oliver’s skin on his. His eyes flutter-closed as he happily breathed in through his nose. Oliver nuzzled his nose over Elio’s at that. Hmm~, Elio rumbled his chest. Then, he updated Oliver what has been going on. Filling Oliver in about something very mundane to the menagerie of weird stuff happened at/with his work and how he ended up being involved in this eatery. Inaudible conversation went on. Oliver flipped his wrist imperceptibly away from Elio eye-line to check time on his watch. Elio caught it and let out a short sigh.

“I’m sorry,” apologized Oliver.

Elio shook his head gently. Knowing what Oliver had to go through to swing by before his departure, Elio fully but begrudgingly accepted this little bit of time shared was more than enough.

._._._.  
The what-may-have-been a usual conversation between two people didn’t happen the mid-afternoon Oliver came back from work. Somehow Elio knew that the particularity (or in-particularity) of Oliver’s profession wouldn’t make a difference for him. Though he did list out the job titles he would never condone. (you know~, the usual kinds that are often tied with Criminal Law in addition to any substance abuse stuff) After series of simple ‘no’s, Elio didn’t even bother to ask about the details. Because he himself never had a set schedule with his work and expecting someone to understand that (on top of other things that came with the job), Elio learned it in a hard way, was a pure fiction. Looking absolutely handsome in Oliver’s clothes, Elio offered his open palm to him right after Oliver’s last monosyllabic answer. Oliver cocked his head.

Elio huffed through his nose with a smile, “your phone, goose.”

Oliver blinked once before reaching into his pocket and handed over his phone. Elio thumbed on its surface for a few moments before handing it back to him. To Oliver’s surprise, Elio downloaded a specific messaging app known to be one of the most secure in the industry. When Oliver looked up at him, Elio simply went;

“A long story. Menny,” and waved his left hand in mixture of ‘whatever’ and ‘so-on-and-so-forth’ and got himself up asking a perky, “did you eat?”

“Not yet.”

“Good! I got some take-outs,” Elio smiled, leaving ‘I like them but I hope _you_ do, too’ left unsaid. When he was about to move towards the kitchen, Elio paused, “Why the look?”

“Nothing,” Oliver pretended, keeping his face straight and expressionless.

“Ah––, You were worried, huh?”

 _How…?_ Oliver’s face went blank before he gathered himself (or snapped out of amazement towards how Elio was readily able to read him), and nodded slowly with an awkward smile and some self-deprecating chuckles. Elio loved his honesty especially his quick response that satisfied Elio’s longing to see if Oliver was feeling the same way.

Funnily enough, Oliver didn’t think Elio’d stay. Unlike last time, Elio had a vehicle to drive away (or go back to Menny as he put it a night before). He thought of a tale about a faraway land’s prince visiting a distant kingdom whose chariot could easily carry him back to where he came from. When he came home, the SUV was gone. And Oliver sat in his car, tempering his disappointment. Yet, there he was. For Oliver, seeing Elio in his clothes, seeing him so comfortable at his place, moving about so effortlessly as if he had been a part of this space, his life, was really special and astonishing, not to mention quite arousing at the same time. Oliver thought his clothes looked way better on him when he first walked in. On the coffee table, a half filled glass was holding melted iced latte showing two layers. Dews formed outside of the tall glass made a thin donut ring around at the bottom of the glass. Next to it, there were wraps of snacks and a corner bitten off chocolate bar. Seeing Elio lying on his belly, with his favorite headset over Elio’s head, Oliver felt something really warm and fuzzy in his chest. _He definitely is a model_ , Oliver thought. Then, the next thing happened when Elio realized Oliver was standing there rooted in place, _just_ watching him, sent Oliver to the moon. Elio simply lifted his cheek and tapped his finger on it. With a quiet huff, Oliver took a couple of steps and obliged gladly. When he leaned in to give a peck, Elio gently cupped Oliver’s face and gave him a tender kiss. Elio smiled as he let loose his plump lips and rolled himself over-n-up then sat on the sofa and smiled. Everything felt so– right. But how could this be?

So, when Elio asked him whether Oliver was worried, he couldn’t help but to dump out his chest. Though it was supposed to be his ‘days off’ after the 36hr-mission, Oliver had to go in; on top of being a Sunday. Oliver could not remember when the last time was that he had the usual weekends off-off. Yes, he left a note at the bedside table with his number, should Elio needed to contact him. In secure and air-gapped (no signal or connection) conference room where high ranking officials were discussing National Security matters and the latest scoop of foreign intelligence, Oliver could only think about Elio. Though Oliver’d never known himself to be an anxious or nervous type, he did worry whether he would find Elio home. _Home_ , Oliver huffed under his nose. As soon as the light over the door turned white, he stepped out of the room rather in a hurry. Come on, come on, Oliver thought, holding his rebooting cell phone in his grip, without realizing he was tapping his index finger on the back of his phone. Surprisingly, no text or voice mail. Huh, Oliver muttered under his breath.

So, yeah, Oliver was worried.

Elio tipped his head to the direction of the kitchen, his wayward curls swaying gorgeously, in a ‘come, let’s eat.’

Elio had Oliver sit down as he brought out the packages from the fridge, asking what he usually drink with his meal. Water, Oliver said. Elio only hummed as an acknowledgement before he began telling Oliver about what he had been up to; that he perused Oliver’s closet and found how organized and neat Oliver was (‘mostly machine washable’); that he did the same with the kitchen cupboard to find how eco-friendly it was. No plastic bags, no plastic jars. His cabinet, though it was quite empty, were filled with practical re-usable containers. He spent his day buried in Oliver’s scent, going through his LP records, DVD collections, and bookshelf.

“Quite an explorer, eh~?”

“The practicality of this place is so blinding!” Elio quipped, licking the tips of his thumb and index finger after taking out the cold serve-as-is entrees into two separate plates. Then, he reached for the kitchen towel hanging on the oven door, in such familiarity.

“How long have you been living here?” Oliver teased before he asked, “What else did you find out about me?”

“That you like reading. I bet your ebook reader has tons and tons of stuff. You read ebooks, right? Or you only prefer…?” looking over his shoulder, Elio didn’t finish his question as Oliver nodded. To that, Elio bobbed his head a little for getting it right.

“If I’m not mistaken, you read a couple of different languages.”

Oliver simply snorted quietly, getting the utensils out of the drawer.

“So you’re not mad?” Elio asked with a hint of lopsided grin, already knowing the answer.

“Pft, why would I be mad?” It was Oliver’s time to look at him with a look and said, “you goose.”

His gorgeous curls turned and, “you know… after last night, I’m surprised how you stayed single,” gave a wink before busying himself with microwave, “besides, everyone sucks on their first time but…boy~, that was…,” with ‘I don’t know about you’ expression, Elio added, “I had a _great_ night.”

It was his way of talking about what happened last night. He thought this was a very tactful way of gauging how Oliver felt about it. Being woken up alone the next day, Elio wanted to know. Because until Oliver, he was the one who left. Situation being reversed, it made Elio wanted to make sure he wasn’t the only one.

Oliver ducked his head and blushed hard. Elio stole a sideglance at him and his plump lips waved in a surreptitious grin. Because, Elio knew exactly what was re-playing in Oliver’s head.

.

Elio tipped his second bottle of local beer and Oliver was feeling extra stuffed than usual. Oliver didn’t forget to thank Elio for his trouble and asked how he knew so much about this side of the town. Elio simply shrugged and said something about him being a foodie. When Elio pushed the other half of the dessert, Oliver waved his hand lightly with his ‘I know myself.’

“Hmm,” Elio shook his head lightly with a wide grin, “such a boy scout. Never overindulge, do you?”

Oliver simply sucked in a breath through his nose offering a hum as an answer as his hand reached for his cup.

“Then,” the corner of Elio’s mouth quirked up, “what happened last night? You kept coming back for more. The second, the third. Hmm?”  
._._._.

It was probably Steph who convinced Elio that Oliver would be more than happy to see him here. Although Elio hated the idea of imposing too much on him, Elio was happy being confirmed how far Oliver would go just to see him regardless of Oliver’s situation. (Oliver always seemed to keenly observe Elio’s every micro expressions.)

“Is there somewhere we could be alone?” asked Oliver quietly.

Elio’s face stilled, his gaze on Oliver’s blue eyes.

.

**Back of the kitchen**

There was a separate prep room with a stainless steel table. Like that of community kitchen that were specifically designed for folks who are trying to build their own business in food industry or trying out recipe before launching a manufacture line in small scale. With their hands interlaced loosely, Elio led him in. Their body language lax, no hint of tension, and neither of them were in a hurry. Oliver closed the door behind him quietly.

Facing each other, Elio and Oliver stood, right by the door. Elio was, by now, totally aware he could never rush Oliver. So he just stood in front of him mirroring the rise and fall of Oliver’s chest. This echo of Oliver’s presence was already enough. When Elio thought Oliver was going to lean in any time soon, Oliver took a step closer. Elio automatically took a step back in the same beat. Elio didn’t quite understand why he always felt like he was being hypnotized by Oliver. A step then another step. Steady and slow. Each other’s breath ghosting on another’s face. Their gaze unwavering, locked on each other’s eyes. When the back of Elio’s thighs touched the edge of the table, Elio traced his hands and placed his palms on his sides, gently pushed himself up, and sat on its surface, quietly. Entire time, his eyes darting slowly over Oliver’s face, Elio didn’t break his gaze from him. Oliver took another half of a step, bringing him standing between Elio’s parted knees. Now the height between them was about the same. Elio lifted his dominant hand and cupped Oliver’s face. A deliberate, yet so loving slow gesture. Softly unfurled palm, his index and third fingers were a little more eager as they reached forward, his thumb pad ghosting over Oliver’s lips following its contour. Oliver gently leaned into Elio’s adoring palm, taking in a slow long breath.

Oliver’s large palm rose and enveloped over the back Elio’s hand, as if he was touching and holding something extremely precious. At least, that was how Elio felt. Elio cupped Oliver’s other side. Oliver placed his other hand over, as so. Oliver’s fingers then gently peeled Elio’s hands from his face, lined their fingers, slowly opened his arms out. Elio filled his lungs slowly to its full capacity while Oliver’s deft movement carried on; interlacing their fingers, caressing gently. Oliver leaned in slow, their cheeks almost touching. His lips were so close to Elio’s earlobe when he took another slow breath. Elio moaned out a shuddering sigh, his eyes rolling under his eyelids. Oliver hummed out low with a soft grin. Nuzzling his cheek against him, Elio sighed a whisper, “(you are driving me crazy).”

Though they may not have spent every waking hour together, (Elio pretty much figured out what things tip Oliver over the edge on their second night: one being his own mother-tongue), Elio knew how to tug at Oliver’s heart string. He knew the way Oliver liked things started.

Oliver laid his lips over on the side of Elio’s long defined neck lines. Just the lips first then with a tiny lick. Elio tightened his grip on his (their) extended arms, which made arching up against Oliver so effortless.

Drawing languid circles inner hallow of Elio’s palms with his thumb, Oliver brought their interwoven hands on either side of his neck. Elio’s long fingers unfurled like the leaved in the morning sun around Oliver’s skull as he guided them over the nape of his head. When Oliver’s fingers slid loose from his grip, Elio wrapped them on Oliver’s jaw line, behind his ear and neck as if each of them knew their rightful place on Oliver’s skin. Oliver slowly traced his hands on the outline of Elio’s waist. With a gentle firmness of his wide spread hands, the blunt tips of Oliver’s fingers traced up Elio’s upper body all the way up to just below Elio’s scapula. Oliver sighed out low, feeling the extreme sense of stillness and tranquility. Elio pulled his head back and his curls clung to Oliver.

How is it that he looks at me this way every. single. time? Elio thought, his eyes studying Oliver’s full blown blue globes. His expression open and unencumbered, Oliver looked at him as if he’d never seen a creature like him. Elio felt as if he was the most important person in the world.

As soon as Elio’s eyes gave a nod, Oliver parted his lips and softly landed them on Elio’s. His long lean fingers brushed into Oliver’s scalp threading his hair.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Realizing (sort of an unexpected & abrupt ‘ah-hah’ moment) that this AU was basically the primordial soup(?) of all my drabbles spawn from and it was… a uh… quite the _surprise_. The very few of you who have been reading my drabbles (*hand on my left chest with a head bow*), even before the purge, would notice the key elements or theme(?!) and repeated expressions I keep coming back to. Majority of them, I must admit, are inserted intentionally. But when I re-read this to somehow try and make sure CMBYN fanfic worthy, to upload it on AO3, I just… *chuckling under my breath*  
> though I'm aware all this end note thing doesn't really interest most of you but... Let’s just say…, I was able to pinpoint the origin of how transcriber-me strings together the images me-brain gives me. So, although in the series /træn’sendɘns/ this AU is technically not era-correct but, because of its figurative origin, I’ve decided to put it as the very first one. Oh, yes, I am in the process of getting the Greek-AU, and Jazz musician!_Elio AU spin uploaded back soon. *sweating* Although it may not look it, every re-post goes through a lot(?) of review instead of simply ctrl-c-&-ctrl-v-ing from my logo vault.  
> .  
> 2020 is almost at its close. I hope your new year's resolutions came true despite the craziness that happened around and in our lives. And wish for all to continue self-care and self-love: mind, body, and soul.  
> As always, \Thank you/ for reading your time and interest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of how Elio got the spare key to Oliver’s house. And ever since that evening, Oliver’s house simply became Elio’s base-of-operation. Their schedule has been two ships passing in the night for a while. One afternoon after a successful photoshoot that ended way ahead of schedule, Elio made an on-the-spot decision to come home with goodies, to find Oliver and of him very _off_. And Oliver could not tell Elio why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**  
> .  
> Supporting character death (Chiara)

\ “… breaking news, we interrupt our scheduled program with a tragic news from South America. The perilous tension that has been building since the election results, a massive riot broke out on the streets of Venezuela. Unfortunately, our correspondence has yet to confirm exactly how extensive the human casualty is. … (the anchorperson paused) We have confirmed one death–, of an Italian graduate student who was traveling…” \

On Oliver’s street, a white catering van pulled up and came to a stop right across from his house. Why that news caught his ears when he already had his earphone pressed in his ears, Elio couldn’t understand. The side door slid open and Elio, with his sun glasses on, disembarked the van: his baseball cap pressed deep, almost all the way down over his forehead. He turned around and leaned back in, busying himself with something. A few moments later, an lively noise of metallic door gliding shut echoed with its distinct thud. If passersby and people on the street were paying attention, they could easily recognize him by the curls at the back of his head where his baseball cap couldn’t hide. Yet, no one seemed to bother or notice Elio on their street. Brown bags with handles, a linen cotton shopping bag; very fancy and too extravagant one at that, boxes on his forearm, and his regular shoulder bag (well, the one he nabbed from one of Oliver’s) across his chest, Elio was carrying bags and boxes of takeout.

The view spanned and from the entry way (interior) view of Oliver’s house, the door finally hinge-opened with a delightful clack, after a series of muffled noise from someone struggling to open the door. Elio walked in with a leather key strap clenched between his teeth—a single key dangled at the end of the ring. Carefully balancing everything in and on his body, Elio gently closed the front door using his foot.

Oliver had given him a spare key after finding Elio around his house, more than a couple of times. He just kept showing up unannounced. One day, Oliver found him sleeping in his car; nonchalantly nestled in his car seat (in Menny’s clever rotation of rentals) tilted all the way back. When Oliver asked him, Elio confessed he waited for Oliver for a while.

“How long is ‘a while’?” Oliver asked quietly.

“uhm…,” Elio pretended to think but he knew exactly when he parked the rental on Oliver’s curve side.

Even when Elio knew Oliver wasn’t coming home, he waited outside of Oliver’s home almost a whole. damn. day. or so Elio finally confessed. Oliver sighed heavily through his nose. That evening, when Oliver offered him a spare, his gesture incredibly sincere yet very pedestrian, Elio took it gladly without hesitation—with more than ample amount of glee on his face. Elio did teased him whether Oliver had a habit of offering a key to his place to anyone. On that, Oliver had a quite a good come back; “do you have a habit of showing up unannounced and wait almost a whole day in your car?” _Touché_ , Elio replied. Oliver had this specific expression (something verging on ‘why are you even asking me that?’ ‘do you think me so little?’) on his mug before he gave the definitive ‘no.’ Elio was secretly so very happy about it.

And Elio followed up with some long-winded quip about Oliver living in 20th century since most of main entrance locks nowadays were smart-home devices. Anything but a physical key; biometric, key fob, smart watch sync, rolling code app, you name it. Knowing it was Elio’s way of trying to dissipate his excitement, unexpected surprise, and nerves (by rambling or running his mouth), Oliver just looked at him as if he was saying, ‘do you not want it?’ or ‘you can always hand it back.’ In Elio’s head, Oliver couldn’t sound more _posh._

Maybe it was because Elio’s intent towards Oliver had a different undercurrent from the get-go, with or without him knowing that he did. The way he inserted himself into Oliver’s life that night at the alley in that rain and didn’t let go since. Without knowing anything about who Oliver was or what he did. In essence, not knowing, and not not knowing didn’t matter to him. How strange that was.

Elio later gathered that one of the things that appealed to him was that for the first time in his life he was not the one being chased after. The fact that he was feeling like a teenager around Oliver, it was not an exaggeration that Elio was immediately hooked on that sentiment. Maybe Elio had been surreptitiously brainwashed to think that he was now an oldie and a has-been, as the prime of the career was at his late teen years; right at the beginning of his career. Seventeen to his very early twenties. Young and fresh faces continued to pop up everywhere and the demand for that newness never ceased. The definition of being seasoned and long-sought-after status meant that something totally different in modeling industry. Especially after _him_ five years ago, Elio had no choice but to train (and resign) himself to be more comfortable being just that. Aging talent, used good, familiar face.

Don’t get him wrong, Elio loved Menny to pieces. Without him, Elio wouldn’t be here but… as he started to feel quite comfortable at his own place (both physically and figuratively), Menny would barge in unexpectedly and check-in on him like a student housing head-mistress. Elio’s shoulders slouched at the thought, with a long extended sigh. Among many things, it was Elio’s way of running away; seeking out Oliver in this fashion. In his defense, Elio reveled on the act itself not necessarily seeing Oliver (especially knowing his unavailability, and Oliver was very good about letting Elio know since that afternoon they exchanged their contact info). Because the anticipation itself was enough for him. How mind-blowing it was that the concept of Oliver as an entity and the very thought of him burrowed so deep into the vital fabric of Elio’s soul and irrevocably nestled into him as _Home_.

Yet, Elio’s decision to not query about Oliver’s occupation would creep up on him like this, that so far appeared to take him away from Elio more often than he thought he could bare, was something he didn’t anticipate. Not this soon. How was he to know he’d be encountering the double-edged sword of his perception? He decided and believed (with conviction he didn’t know why he was so certain) that he was perfectly peaceful with ‘not knowing and not-not knowing.’ But the past few days, Oliver’s unscheduled radio silence almost drove Elio out of his mind. Like a lost duckling that imprinted on a summer guest whom Elio knew he was only there for a short period of time. On top of that, there was this weird sense of Oliver being purposely inaccessible. Why? Elio wondered. Yet, the feeling lingered; it hung around and clung to him like a broken old cob web that strewn over on the back of his clothes. Something his hands couldn’t quite reach or look at it straight. It wasn’t technically a huge bother, yet it nagged at him so fiercely.

So Elio meticulously made sure he would have decent enough amount time to spend with Oliver. Menny was going to add a couple of interviews for ‘quick and easy buck’ but was gloriously interrupted by a call from his best friend from the designer school who now works for a Vietnamese-French designer in Italy. Apparently, she was in New York and wanted to know if Menny could swing by. That meant Menny getting samples, along with him catching up with his old buddy; an occasion he would never turn down. Well, Elio brought enough of excuses to see Oliver today. _Maybe too much?_ He briefly contemplated looking at his state, _Nah_ ––. He was determined to push his way in regardless of what Oliver was going to find. Despite the bubbling anxiety, Elio hummed something and jollily carried what felt like a mountain of packages up the steps.

.

Elio was just in the motion of walking up on the last step of the stairs was when Oliver turned around while drying the back of his hair with a towel. Oliver paused. Elio’s eyebrows shot up immediately. Elio expected a big smile on Oliver’s face. But it never came. In fact, he looked more shocked. Then, a look of ‘oh, right, I gave you a key’ dawned on him hastily. Although Oliver promptly lent a hand for Elio’s goodie bags, there was something odd: offbeat. Without commenting, Elio placed what-he-carried-upstairs on the kitchen table. Elio turned around and noticed chill radiating from Oliver’s skin. He confirmed it when he was about to lay a quick peck on Oliver’s lips. Yeah, definitely cold. Not just metaphorical mood-wise, but his skin was frosty as if he just got out of an ice bath. What made things more awkward was Oliver pulling back a little (like an involuntarily knee-jerk reaction) before he quickly blinked, gained his composure realizing what he just did, then leaned in and gave a barely-there kiss on Elio’s cheek. As if the Oliver Elio knew checked out and the person standing in front of him was a shell of him, Oliver acted as though everything took a minute for him. Even the stuff that were ought to be his usual reaction. Oliver then went on to put one of his over-sized sweat shirts (one of Elio’s favorites out of Oliver’s selection) clearing his throat rather uncomfortably, on top of his t-shirt. Oliver was never bashful. _Is he cold?_ Elio let out a controlled sigh and brightened his face. Why did it felt like Oliver was putting more layers between him and Elio?

It appeared that Elio had a decision to make; either let this peculiar murky air between them be and come back another time or ignore the whole thing and act as if nothing was wrong.

“This is one of my to-die-for place and they happened to cater today so I asked for them to keep some separate,” said Elio putting away boxes in the cabinet and refrigerator accordingly. “I asked them to label each. Aand~ based on my experience, except for ‘this’ one,” Elio gave a little pause to point at it, “the rest freezes very well.” Elio babbled on, saying something in lines with ‘he had the caterer pack everything since he didn’t know exactly what Oliver would like. If Oliver didn’t like something that he would eat them,’ and so on. The whole time, Oliver just watched him and didn’t say a word. That didn’t help at all, Elio sighed. In fact, his meager attempt to soldier on didn’t even make a dent. Agh, he sighed in his head. So, Elio casually lifted his cell phone and gestured ‘you can always reach me here’ or maybe the other way around, ‘I’ll call you.’

Oliver simply blinked. Elio sat his jaws. Well, at least he was looking at me and he probably got what I meant, Elio reconciled his own conundrum in his head. Although Elio was aware that he probably had a bold _disappointed_ written all over his face, he no longer could stay where he was feeling like an intruder. Aside from him massively deflated (which was something very hard to hide), Elio wasn’t about to put a show-biz face on just to be here. He was well-aware of its danger; because calling its inevitability a danger would be an understatement.

When Elio made a motion to walk out, he felt hesitant fingers on his waist. Mm? Elio found himself being startled a little. Because Oliver was just sitting on the kitchen table less than a minute ago but now he was standing close to him. Elio’s eyebrows drew in close, forming shallow vertical lines. Wait, is my sense of reality off?? Without having a moment to process this gap, Elio noticed Oliver’s fingers gently lingering on his waist. That made Elio to pause his cogs from turning; he took in a breath. Standing face to face, off-centered, Elio slowly lifted his head. And his gaze was greeted with Oliver’s hooded exhausted eyes. _What is going on in your head?_

“I can always come back,” said Elio softly; ‘ _since it doesn’t seem like a good time_ ’ was left unspoken. At that, Oliver gave a quick shake of his head. Elio tipped his head a little (not a full nod), as an acknowledgement. They just stood there for a while. Breathing.

And the moment Oliver’s forehead touched the top of Elio’s shoulder, something in Elio understood. A barely there stuttering sigh of relief ghosted over at the exposed part of his collar bone before Oliver softly pulled Elio into his arms. When Elio placed his hand against Oliver’s lower back, his body was trembling. It felt as though something had happened to Oliver and he had to put up a wall made out of haphazardly gathered materials around him so he wouldn’t crack. Elio tilted his cheek and nuzzled it against Oliver’s temple slowly as his hands brushed up against Oliver’s body. A warm and strained moan like respite released from Oliver’s lips, against Elio’s skin. When his palm reached the back of Oliver’s neck, Elio turned and hugged Oliver in completely. And Oliver draped his body over Elio’s as his other hand ran under Oliver’s sweatshirt. He felt warm.

“Thank you,” Elio whispered, threading his fingers into Oliver’s wet hair. Elio was thanking Oliver for not rejecting him and not letting him leave with unease hanging between them.

That was when Oliver’s large arms came up and tightened around Elio’s back. And Oliver adjusted his head and buried his nose into Elio’s skin on between his neck and shoulder.

“I meant what I said, though,” continued Elio, this time testing the water a little. Oliver hands just clenched the contour of the upper arms of his sweater as his head shook side-to-side.

“O-kay,” chuckled Elio, before he readjusted within Oliver’s embrace and hugged Oliver back in equal intensity.

.

._._._.  
It wasn’t even a mission. Chiara was already there as an embassy attaché to assure the safety of a special team that had been surveiling the volatile situation in Venezuela. She not only acted as an interim translator but also a go-between of the American consulate and the Venezuelan government. Oliver joined with a congressman (who grew up in Bronx as a first generation Venezuelan immigrant, served in U.S. Marines, turned a liberal politician) to assure the cooperation from the head of state officials; to uphold their previous agreement of ‘not’ supporting militia groups and their attempts of illegal acquisition of weapons. It was supposed to be a walk in the park; something a private security would have done it just as easily. Yet, on the way to the airport, after the said meeting concluded successfully, they found themselves being driven into the streets of major demonstration.

“I thought we were supposed to take the different route!” Oliver said urgently as their vehicle windows were getting pounded by the protestors.

Chiara began asking questions to the driver and a frantic conversation began. They were trying to radio the front and the back vehicles. Soon, they were separated from them (the lead and the tail of their envoy team) and found themselves halted within the crowd. It felt as though they were right in the eye of a hurricane. Oliver reached through the seat (the middle arm rest of the back seat) and pulled out Kevlar gears and two guns from the trunk.

“Shit,” Oliver muttered, making sure the congressman had his bullet proof vest on first. It was a standard, non-critical mission semi-automatic: only eight rounds.

A brick landed on the windshield with a thud. Being an armored, the mad crowd didn’t penetrate into their SUV: not just yet. Sure enough, the banging of the steel pipe began.

“Chiara!” Oliver shouted, offering her a vest, as she was trying to get the headquarter through comm.

A couple of the mob came up on their vehicle. First one: on the hood in the front, then, two more on the roof. Amidst the chaos, they heard a siren approaching from the rear of the vehicle, slowly parting the protesters.

“(oh, thank God~),” Chiara sighed, her eyes still darting over the damage their SUV was taking.

It happened in a blink of an eye. From Chiara’s northwest, an ear deafening noise of machine gun being fired echoed. The relentless pounding of projectile bullets made a first penetration through the driver’s left temple. His foot pressed on the gas and the SUV swerved into the crowd. Instinctively, Chiara reached for the steering wheel. Parting the crowd, the vehicle rolled onto a pavement and slammed into the metal shutter of a store front before it came to a halt.

Ears ringing, Oliver squinted open his eyes. He could gather the armored police came and surrounded their vehicle, with the megaphone directing the protestors, periodically ringing the bullhorn. Oliver first made sure of the congressman’s safety.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” he replied, clutching on his thigh as the blood was woozing out between his fingers.

Oliver quickly undid the congressman’s necktie and wrapped it around the wounded area as a tourniquet. Then he straightened his back to check on Chiara.

“Wow~, is this what you usually go through on your mission?” adrenaline coursing through her voice, Chiara smiled looking back at him, trying to catch her breath.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, when this is over, you’re gonna recommend me for a fiel–,” at that moment, her face went completely still.

Turns out, there were more than one stray bullet came through. One on the congressman’s thigh, the other ricocheted into Chiara’s rib. She coughed up a spirt of blood, gasping for air.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Oliver muttered through gritted teeth as Chiara gurgled, drowning in her own blood.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. It was supposed to be in-and-out: a walk in the park.  
._._._.

Oliver asked Elio if it was okay for him to go to bed and apologized for not being a good host before quietly disappearing into the bedroom. Elio sighed. It wasn’t much of a bother since Elio had several previous occasions where he made himself comfortable regardless of Oliver being in his house or not; yes, Elio thoroughly took advantage of using the spare key.

Elio sat on the couch, dumped his chest through his nose. He glanced at the direction of kitchen but he didn’t feel like having any. Then, his gaze dropped onto his hands. Fidgeting and fiddling his own fingers, Elio let out another long sigh. When he lifted his gaze on to the coffee table there was an old copy of a book he recognized. In Deutsch, even, Elio thought. He leaned his upper body, angling it only just to grab it from the table.

Heptaméron

A collection of tales originally written in French by Marguerite of Navarre. Hm, he contemplated in his head. And He moved his fingers and part-opened the book gently where a hand-worn bookmarker was soundlessly nestled in between. Huh, Elio let out a single huff under his breath. Because it appeared that Oliver was reading the part where a story of a knight in love with a princess. Elio’s fingers twiddled the marker slowly in-between his fingers. The smell of old paperback rose from the page. And he couldn’t help but to bring the bookmarker close over the tip of his nose. Maybe it was his imagination, Elio could smell Oliver’s hand on it.

In general, their relationship was more like that of a very close friend. A friendship that would normally be described as ‘we hit it off quickly and became very close.’ When they’d meet, more conversation were shared—some normal, some intellectual, some absolutely mundane and trivial—than any other long established good friends did. When they have sex, it wasn’t of just two people who kissed and hugged kind. Their love-making or _fuck_ embodied the definition of _e_ xtreme closeness with depthless voraciousness yet each time it was so familiar and comfortable; there was nothing else between them. The act of sex itself wasn’t a must. At least, from what Elio gathered so far, that was how Oliver wanted to keep things between Elio and him. To think of it, that was how everything else had been as well. No plans, no building futures or what not, no deadlines, no how do you see yourself in five years? types of crap, but just _be_. Elio didn’t have any problem with that notion. _Not one bit._

Oliver always acted older than his age. Elio considered this remarkable since they were nine years apart. Elio loved the fact that Oliver still had this adolescent quality about him, especially on his face. It wasn’t the usual baby fat thing. Oliver really was well built. It was more like something untouched, still green, like a new car smell, that has yet to experience the sting of life. Even if he did, whatever or how extensive those were, has yet left a mark on his face. ‘oh, how I envy the youth,’ he thought. Oliver always listened and gave appropriate-n-genuine responses without uttering a single word.

For a very long time, Elio was confident about his ability to read people. It really didn’t take much for him to figure people out since he lived what he calls ‘a-working-adult-world’ from his early teens. Even stubborn Menny eloquently agreed. Well, let’s just say that was how Mimi was hired from a huge pool of qualified candidates when other staff disagreed.

Though he was surprised and concerned to see Oliver in such a wreck, Elio was more unsettled about how Oliver reacted when he first walked in. An unannounced visit felt more like an intrusion to be exact. The honest truth was Elio couldn’t imagine not knowing. Oliver was explicitly clear that he could not share any details about his work other than what he’d already told him. Of which in essence, basically nothing; that his work schedule was never that of normal, and that he often went out of town, and such. Majority of times, Elio had no idea to where he was or how long would be gone. Being that Elio’s schedule also was contractually obligated, he thought it was fair for both of them. We’ll see each other when we can. Menny seemed to be happy about this hard-to-match schedule, knowing it just made Elio long for Oliver more. Though he understood Menny’s weariness on Elio seeing someone after Michel debacle, Elio couldn’t bring himself to be more grown-up about the situation. At least, not lately.

.

Elio jolted awake. _I must have dosed off._ He thought he was back in the villa on that rainy afternoon in Italian summer when his mother was reading the very part Oliver was reading. Her voice was soft and warm.

\ One day, he asks the princess point-blank: _Ich bitte euch ratet mir was besser ist… reden oder sterben._ ‘Is it better to speak or die.’ \

All the lights in the house suddenly went out after a low bass rumble reverberated throughout. Elio remembered feeling the deep-vibration of thunder that brought the earth-splitting jolt of lightning in his entire body: so seismic yet so subtle. _What was going on in your head, Oliver?_

He tossed his forearm over his eyes as they rolled under his fluttering eyelids. With an audible breath, Elio opened his eyes again and began looking around. Couch: I’m lying on my back. Book: open and nestling face down on my belly. Coffee table, his head rolled lazily to the side and Elio huffed out quietly under his breath. There was an expensive bottle of wine he snagged: almost all empty, only a little bit left on his wine glass. Huh, Elio snorted under his breath.

Something about the air in the house was different. It was outright hilarious that Elio was able to locate Oliver standing outside the balcony of the kitchen (that went nowhere); as if he had Oliver locator in his head.

“This is new,” Elio said quietly.

Oliver wasn’t even startled. And he blew the smoke to the other side.

“I didn’t know you smoke.”

Oliver’s gaze dropped, the stray hair falling over his eyes, as his fingers sluggishly twisted the cigarette held between, “…I don’t.”

Elio leaned over the metal railing, resting the middle of his forearms, and sighed through his nose before bringing his hands together into an interlaced grip.

.

._._._.  
The congressman on a gurney, his thigh wrapped in bandages, Oliver walked off the military carrier plane. The evac procedure went without a hitch. His superior was furious of the fact that the driver who was supposed to be vouched was the one who played a pivotal role in this mishap. Oliver set his jaws at the choice of her word. But he held his tongue. The debrief was crystal clear. The fact that the footage of drone (which was watching the entire situation live without taking any action) corroborated Oliver’s side of the story. He requested to be dismissed and his superior ordered him to take a couple of days. Oliver dipped his head.

His face still, Oliver walked into the empty gym. A montage of Oliver immersing himself in speed rope, hanging heavy punching bag, then the speed bag played. He didn’t stop there; Oliver pushed his body so he could forget. He was always sensible. He always knew himself not to overdo anything. But today? Something snapped. And Oliver didn't care.

One of Oliver’s team mates (the same guy Elio saw from distance at the alley) joined and they began sparring.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude–,” he paused and was about to say something but his eyes caught Oliver’s face and he only let out a sigh.

“Again,” Oliver demanded.

.

By the time two were done, Oliver’s skin was literally red all over, drenched in sweat. Oliver petted his shoulder as he was catching his breath. In return, his team mate smack the back of Oliver’s head before he messed the sweat-soaked hair.

Oliver’s car pulled into his garage. He popped the trunk and carried up big bags of ice over his shoulders. When he reached upstairs, Oliver walked straight to his bathroom and turned the knob all the way to COLD. He then ripped the bags open and filled the tub. And Oliver disappeared for a few moments and came back with an ice bucket from his freezer. His jaws bulging, he emptied the ice from it, as well.  
._._._.

**Balcony**

Oliver offered his lit cigarette to Elio and Elio gave it a look. Wordless exchange. With an inaudible inhale, he leaned a little towards Oliver’s direction and took the cigarette from his fingers. They were looking out at the non-attractive side of the street without words as Elio brought the tip of the cigarette between his lips. Two long white stream of smoke billowed out from Elio’s nose.

“So are you gonna tell me what is going on?”

Oliver set his jaws as he sighed deep. Elio dropped his gaze and turned his head towards Oliver's direction, his chin hovering over his shoulder. Elio could tell Oliver was not intentionally trying to hide _whatever happened_ from him. That much was clear.

“Marry me.”

Elio coughed, choking in the middle of his drag. He coughed the rest into his clenched fist, looking away from Oliver. It felt as though he was coughing for a good couple of minutes. The back of his throat burned. After a few more remnants of coughs, Elio was finally able to regain his voice, “…what??”

“I hate this. I hate not being able to tell you about my day. So marry me.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, \Thank you/ for reading, your time and interest.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Michel; with the repeating element (?) of this AU (cell phone buzzing), it’s Elio’s turn to be unreachable. It drives Oliver nuts. A glimpse of how cray-cray Michel is in this AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **M** for the implied self-harm and descriptive scene of suicide attempt

The look on Elio’s face. Gosh–

Elio stood there, the surrounding blurred out, like a moment taken by a famous photographer for a full page magazine ad—his face still, unreadable.

Oliver was painstaking aware that 'that' wasn’t how national security worked. Having Elio as his legal spouse, in fact, would not change much. Not one bit. In fact, the change of status wouldn’t even make a dent. Because of the level and the depth of discretions Oliver took an oath to protect, he would have to continue to manipulate the truth just as much as he had been with his own blood family. Carefully glossing over the details with prudent omissions and judiciously picked-n-selected commissions so that he would never entirely be lying. Because without context or details, Oliver would always and forever will _appear_ to be truthful. For a long time, since his unexpected _early_ recruitment, he thoroughly understood the nature of his reality. Why, all of a sudden, Oliver was grappled with the already known and long-accepted conundrum (of compartmentalizing his life in an extreme) was baffling him out of his mind. Considering Chiara’s untimely death wasn’t his first of witnessing death and the length of time Elio and he had been seeing each other, the compulsion to just blurt out those words ‘ _marry me_ ’ was not from his rational mind. Or so he insisted on believing it to be the truth. And yet, Oliver knew to his bones that he really meant it.

Is it the basal nature of us despite all the advancement of society? No matter the technology, no matter the enlightenment, all human beings are essentially smart apes caught in a loop, running madly in our own hamster wheel, and what we want has always been the same? Food, shelter, sex, and (in all its form) _escape_. Fuck, does this mean I need to voluntarily submit myself to a psych eval?

Oliver couldn’t tell how long they stood like that on his balcony. Elio’s slender yet magnificent form in exquisite pause, only thing moving was his wayward curls by the stray breeze in the air. Say something, a voice in Oliver head echoed. Anything, call me crazy. Or or stupid. Tell me I don’t make sense.

Elio straightened himself rather slowly and Oliver felt himself blink, swallowing hard.

“You know…,” Elio began, holding Oliver’s gaze, his beautiful hazel eyes darting slowly over Oliver’s face, “most people start with ‘I missed you’,” and took a measured step forward toward Oliver.

His head tilting minutely, a soft smile began to bloom. Oliver could only blink, feeling frozen in place.

“Or,” Elio came to stand in front of him, only a half of a step away, looking up at him. And Oliver could smell his cologne and the wine lingering in his breath, “say ‘I love you’, you know?”

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and whispered back without missing a beat, “I do.”

“Mhm–,” Elio hummed, his eyes closing gently with an indulgently satisfied smile.

With an inhale, his long lashes lifted ever so delicately and Oliver became transfixed with the way Elio was looking back at him.

“Not that I was seeing anyone but–,” Elio continued. So nonchalant. So casual. In a way Oliver began to feel as though he didn’t muck up whatever he was trying to have Elio understand. Somehow, without him explicitly saying out loud, Elio was telling Oliver that it was okay, “Does this mean you want us to be exclusive?”

Oliver nodded immediately, another involuntary reflexive response (he wondered how Elio was able to make him or his body to do that), though his lips were eagerly itching to say that he wants more; that he _has been_ wanting more. Elio’s eyes darted slowly, from gazing into Oliver’s left eye then to the right, then back again to the left. And his eyebrows rose in a way Oliver had no trouble understanding: Tell me, I want to hear it. So Oliver swallowed hard, holding Elio’s unflinching gaze.

“…yes, I do,” Oliver didn’t realize his voice was trembling until he said those words.

Elio filled his lungs slowly, all the way, with a soft smile. A smile that began with a thin line between his closed lips that soon bloomed ever so gently into something so Elio, something that made Oliver feel as though he was the only thing in this world that Elio wanted. Gosh–, how I missed you, Oliver thought.

Oliver registered that he was leaning into Elio’s touch. His long slender fingers were gently massaging the scalp at the back of his head, with his forehead meekly resting against the crook of Elio’s neck. The bridge of his nose nestled so closely on the skin of Elio. For some reason, Oliver’s over exhausted brain missed a beat or two. Did he lean in first? Or did Elio’s hand came up first? Oliver couldn’t tell. Yet, his upper body hunched forward, Oliver found himself relaxing into Elio’s touch.

Elio nuzzled his temple against the side of Oliver’s head and spoke low, “What can I do?”

Oliver encircled his arms around him, _at last,_ and pulled Elio in close. His body ached, every muscle and joint and sinew on fire with deep sour zing as Oliver’s entirety was pushed to its limit. But this, _this_ felt really good.

.

A loud buzzing of a cell phone woke Oliver up. The room was dark and there was no hint of other movement. It must be in the middle of the night. Oliver cringed his eyes a little, quietly rolling over to his bedside table. He breathed out through his nose, it’s not mine. He cracked open his left eye and lifted himself up on his elbow. Elio stirred quietly in his sleep, his hand reaching for Oliver. It was Elio’s phone. Oliver took an audible inhale, setting his jaws before deciding to get out of the bed. Treading as quietly as he could, he circled the bed. The cell phone kept on buzzing with full ten digit number on its screen without a name. Below the number it said, New York, NY.

Huh.

This was not that unusual for Elio to receive calls in the late hours or early before dawn. But something about this didn’t sit right with Oliver. It was not like that Oliver recognized the number. Oliver could not understand his reluctance on waking Elio or even answering it himself. He’d done it before. When it went to voicemail, the screen blinked ‘3 missed calls’ from the same number. Oliver paused. Elio lazily tossed. His chocolate curls cascaded as he stirred to open his eye, having a little difficulty with the other one.

With froggy low voice almost like a whisper, Elio went, “what are you doing up?”

Oliver simply gestured holding Elio’s phone.

“Shit,” Elio sighed, “I thought I muted it,” and rubbed at his eyes with his one hand and flinched, trying to resist waking up, “what time is it?”

“Almost 1.”

His eyebrows drew close. Elio looked perplexed as if his face was saying there should be no one calling him. Oliver could see Elio’s cogs turning as he handed the phone to Elio. Beautifully fanned out fingers of his casually took it into his grip. As the screen light lit his face, Elio flinched while struggling to focus his eyes. Oliver was about to get out of the bedroom thinking, since he was already up he’d go to bathroom. Then he saw Elio’s face. And... Oliver’s heart dropped and the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed. Elio mouthed 'fuck' under his breath and let out a sharp nervous exhale. Then Elio’s head turned to the other side with mixed expressions on his face and the furrows between his eyebrows deepened. Oliver could see several complicated thoughts running through Elio’s head. Elio cussed quietly under his breath a couple of time, then once more—this time in Italian. Elio pulled himself up putting his feet on the floor, and sat on the edge of bed from his side.

Cautiously and very hesitantly, Oliver reached out his arm to Elio. When Elio exclaimed “FUCK!!!!” Oliver’s hand paused in the mid-air and left hovering just above Elio’s shoulder as Elio went on messing his head with both his hands. Oliver pulled his hand, retracting it with a grip as if he was about to touch something he shouldn’t. He wanted to ask what was wrong. Instead, Oliver muttered ‘would you want me to give you some room?’ He couldn’t believe himself for saying those words. No, he _hated_ the fact that he was saying those words out loud. Because Oliver wanted to know. Because he felt he deserved to know. What the fuck, Oliver? For once in your life, say what you want to say. It’s Elio, for God’s sake.

Elio turned around sharply realizing that Oliver was there as if for that few moments he’d completely forgotten where, why here or with whom he was. He dumped out his chest out loud before he responded with a gentle “no.”

Elio sat there slouched forward as Oliver walked around the bed. When he brought himself to sit down next to him, Oliver could see Elio shaking: visibly and quietly. This put Oliver a bit farther on the edge. He hasn’t seen Elio this way. Ever.

Oliver felt so helpless and so lost as if the ground under him abruptly disappeared. Oliver took a hesitant glance without turning his head, only to find the very look affirming his gut feeling: a look that Elio’s soul had been sucked out of his body. Uneasy moment hung between them, neither not knowing what to say or how they'd proceed. All those should, could, or would mangled in one.

 _Reden oder sterben_ : ‘Is it better to speak or die.’

How strange it was that two people’s heads were echoing the same. damn. thing.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Oliver immediately regretted his words. Before Oliver’d regressed to deeper self-imposed maddening head spin, Elio simply shook his head. A whisper-like half pronounced “–'k,” escaped Oliver’s lips. And a slight relief soundlessly bloomed in the corner of Oliver’s heart followed on the fact that Elio didn’t reject him. But the nagging feeling that this was something colossal gripped tight on Oliver’s gut. _Why do I get the feeling this is the beginning of the end?_

.

For the next few days, Elio didn’t contact Oliver or come over. Oliver’s days went by as normal as he pretended to be. At home, Oliver paced, flipped DVDs and LPs, but couldn’t bring himself to call Elio. He already left too many messages. He almost pulled some muscle speed roping in an unusual pace. He thought he could sweat it off. Or so he hoped. Because, stupidly enough, Oliver felt if he pushed his heart to beat faster, it would stop hurting as much.

.

**Elio’s condo/office, Busy Downtown**

Menny was fussing all over the place as usual and on the phone, talking to Elio’s staff, impatiently thumbing over his phone screen, and flailing his other hand. Menny and Steph were walking towards the front door.

“Oh, no. That bitch has gone–.”

When he opened the door, Menny’s jaw just dropped. Oliver, looking gaunt, was standing there, feeling out of place and greeted, “hey, Menny.”

“Dear Jesus. (something in Northern Italian dialect) Did Leslie let you in?” asked Menny with his usual show-biz smile, though he couldn’t completely hide his apprehension.

Oliver just nodded.

“Well, come in,” said Menny a beat too quickly with exaggerated gestures as usual and over the top welcome. And he looked over his shoulder with his one hand on his mouth and the other on his waist, “At least, someone is doing their job right!” fake-yelled to his crew.

His gaze pinned out, Oliver walked in. It wasn’t usual for him to visit this place. He had done it only once. Well, twice if he counted the very first time he drove Elio here after their first (?) meeting.

“Do you want something to drink? Or some organic trail mix?”

Oliver gave a tight smile at the edges of his mouth.

Menny took a sharp inhale, “that’s a ‘no’,” and muttered something while putting the back of his hands on his waist. Connie was walking in adjusting her glasses, flipping through concept art drafts and stopped suddenly after noticing Oliver there. Menny stood gesturing ‘I know’ rolling his eyes as the expression changed into ‘what are we gonna do?’

Connie stood rooted in place attempting to find right words to begin a conversation only to end up with half finished vowels. It sounded as though someone was strangling her.

“Do you know where Elio is?” asked Oliver low and glum, with his jaw clenching automatically.

Menny and Steph exchanged looks. Menny gestured and mouthed to Connie to ‘talk to him’ so obviously.

“He hasn’t been answering my calls,” Oliver stated so matter of fact-ly.

“Oliver. I…uh…,” Connie stammered.

“Can you at least tell me where he is?”

Menny was gesturing ‘no, don’t tell him.’

Connie tossed a look at Menny with a frown, “Elio will be back soon. Why don’t you have a seat?”

And she fished her phone out and made a call down to Leslie (lobby) not to tell anything about Oliver being here.

.

The angle pulled wide and the beautiful city-scape of busy down town was captured without audio off. From the corner, the view followed a vehicle with heavy tint on its windows. It was Elio turning into underground parking of the building. A montage of him, stopping for vehicle code scan at the bar gate, parking at the designated spot, getting his things, getting out of the car, locking the car while walking away then towards the elevator, passed Leslie while they flinched played monotonously. Yet, Elio didn’t notice and got on the elevator, as he had done many times over. Once he was out of the moving lift, Elio walked down the hall and reached to his door. With a swipe of his key card, though his wrist movement appeared to be a little off, the front door unlocked with a high-tech digital hydraulic noise.

Even without knowing Menny, it was obvious he was nervous (or on edge) as soon as his eyes caught Elio walking in. But Elio seemed to just cruise through the living/guest receiving room as if he was on an auto pilot. Steph motioned to get Elio’s attention but her words failed her before she had a chance. She simply opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water as Elio walked on by.

His gaze casted over on the bottom half of the wall, Elio arrived at his office area. He swiveled towards what appeared to be his personal cabinet with a half desk. First, he shrugged off his shoulder bag. Then, his sun glasses: his slender long fingers holding it by its frame. With a doleful inhale, Elio’s head lifted. So did his line of sight. And everything came to a sudden stop. He just saw Oliver’s reflection on the mirror.

.

The look on Elio’s face. Fuck–

Oliver and Elio just stood there without words as if it was a shot frozen in time taken by steady cam. Elio looked like he had seen a ghost. No one in the room said anything. What could you say in this situation when everyone knew?

“I guess you have been busy,” Oliver was the one who broke the silence.

Elio’s face frowned deep, his chin lifting up just so, tilting his head back as he screwed his eyes shut. His magnificent curls, an inch or two longer than the last time Oliver had seen him, swayed forward as Elio dipped his head down. It was as if Oliver’s voice pierced his heart like an ice pick. To Oliver, Elio’s such reaction landed as a shock. A devastation.

 _Reden oder sterben_ : ‘Is it better to speak or die.’

Oliver’s hand clenched tightly at his side. His lips parted first as he took in a sharp inaudible inhale and,

“At least tell me it’s over.”

Oliver’s voice cracked apart heart-wrenchingly at the end. He quickly swallowed, his eyes welling with tears. The balled-up fist of his tightened so hard his knuckles were turning white; the veins of his half visible forearms bulged. His Adam’s apple waved vertically as Oliver gulped down his tears.

His nostrils flared first. And this time, Oliver managed to say it louder than a whisper, “tell me it’s over. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

Time stood still draped in so much anguish and sorrow, and unspoken words. Steph was quietly crying, her grip clenching on her own shirt at her chest. His chest bellowing fast, Elio was shaking visibly. Unyielding resolve of Oliver on the mirror, Elio held his gaze. His green hazel globes began to blur as they too were welling up with hot tears. Elio felt his knees giving out. So he exhaled out an involuntary huff through his parted lips as his torso leaned forward. Barely though, his palms caught him from falling forward. A subdued whimper streamed out of Elio’s nose. The wrists. His fingertips claws the surface of half-depth table, desperately; but it was no use. His forearms and elbows gave out and Connie rushed to Elio just in the nick of time, pulling the rolling desk chair close, to have him collapse into a chair.

.

**A Couple of Weeks Ago (two evenings after the midnight at the beginning of this chapter)**

A view panned within an expensive restaurant (the one that requires at least six months in advance reservation), completely and utterly empty. Given the time of the day, it should be brimming with people with thick wallets in their pocket.

Elio walked in and was led by a host to sit in the table prepared for the night. There was a guy sitting across the table; leaning against the back of the seat with a crystal liquor glass gently perched on his palm. He was sitting with his legs crossed. Elio didn’t greet him.

“(I thought you wouldn’t come),” in fluent Southern Italian, Michel began with a satisfied smirk on his face.

Elio sneered briefly with a short huff through his nose while trying to make himself comfortable. The wait staff came over to Elio. Michel immediately ordered another drink, his gesture condescending and dismissive. To the wait staff’s surprise, Elio courteously said, in French “(a sparkling water with a slice of lemon, please),” with a soft smile.

Michel flinched hearing French being uttered in front him. It appeared that Elio knew exactly how to vex him.

“So,” Michel said.

“So,” repeated Elio with an unwavering look.

“You look good,” said Michel putting his drink on the table, “I hear a lot of good things about you. You are truly blossoming.”

“What. do. you. want?”

“Do I need a reason to see you?”

Elio let out sinister huff like laughs in disbelief. “Megalomaniac.” And he said his thanks to the wait staff for bringing his drink.

“(I purchased a property in New Zealand and I’d like you to join me at the christening).”

Elio closed his eyes and had a look of ‘here you go again’; an exhausted ex-lover’s face. Elio knew exactly which property Michel was talking about.

_._._._  
It was at the time Elio was in his 20s and he has been in a relationship with a fellow super model (female) for almost two years. Their dating life was open in the public eye (and their scrutiny) with which they did not have any problem. Even paparazzi recognized them as a known figure and didn’t make much undo fuss at all. In return, the two began acting nice to them.

Elio was away in New Zealand for an extended campaign photo shoot for a renowned designer brand without his girlfriend whom was also busy with her own schedule in Milan, Italy. Elio having always been a party lover back then, he didn’t miss one that took place _after_ the sunset.

Mhm, he didn’t know then, that 'that night' would change _everything_.

Elio was holding a glass of cocktail that matched the theme of the party. From the far corner of the room, Michel eyed him like a predator out for a hunt. Though mesmerized by Elio’s genuine laugh and ease of being around others, Michel had something different in mind.  
_._._._

**Back at the Restaurant**

The very property Michel was speaking of had no investment value other than the fact that it held their beginning. It was Michel’s twisted and theatrical stab at Elio.

“Every year,” Elio began in a measured tone, “you do this charade to buy me. And every year, I give you the same answer.”

“Hasn’t it been fun?”

“What’s different this year that you insisted on seeing me in person?”

Elio thought he was doing okay. After those hard-hitting years of scrapping the bottom to get back into the game of this industry, Elio now had people around him; friends around him. And… Oliver. Elio closed his eyes as the stab of pain came rushing in right on the center of his chest.

Basically, Michel had been plotting things around Elio’s world for quite some time. Leaving Elio no choice but to oblige to this meeting (?) because of the level of threat he and his close circle of people would face. The unpredictability and the menace Michel could unleash was something Elio didn’t ever want to experience twice. No measure of the legal system’s protection could shield Elio from him, either. Power, after all, had always been for the one who influenced it. And Michel epitomized the very definition of such level of influence. Dirty secrets, hidden agendas, a series of elaborate games he designed by carefully placing dispensable pawns in the right place at a right time. With the amount of money, the willing minions came easy: _always_. It would be a monumentally pointless for Elio to try defying it point blank, again. Michel was fully aware how much and how far he could push Elio to get exactly what he wanted every. single. year. since the divorce. For Michel, witnessing a glimpse of to-what-extent Elio dared and reveled against Michel’s every attempt to ruin his career (and everyone around him) was a game that he got off of in numerous ways. Rattled the cage just enough and see what would happen. Crack the glass dome just enough, before it’d split open and see how he would react.

Elio was looking down at his wrist. A length-wise deep line ran along his tendon, both ends of the scar were quite faded and three inches or so of it remained. An extreme act: Elio thought it was the only way out—to be freed from Michel’s grip. By the time Elio reached to that conclusion then, he had no intention to live. If it wasn’t for Menny, Elio wouldn’t be here. That much he knew.

Elio’s jaw clenched.

“Are you happy with him?” Michel was referring to Oliver.

Elio’s expression dimmed. The suspicion he had for the past two days was undoubtedly true.

“Ooo~~,” Michel looked amused that his assumption was correct, knowing he just pushed the right button: yet again. He moved with certain ominous grace and a satisfied grin on his face, and took a sip without breaking the eye contact, “One thing you should never forget, is that I always get what I want.”

“Is that it? If you can’t have it, no one can?” retorted Elio.

Michel chuckled, “(Italian proverb meaning something ‘How ironic’)! you just referred yourself as it.”

“Isn’t that how you see everything?”

“Except you.”

Elio let out a cynical huff, “Should I be glad?”

“I promise I won’t hold anything against you.”

He meant everything from the day Elio filed for divorce without even speaking to him about it. It was always a game to him. Nothing more.

“Would you be satisfied hearing the truth?”

“Haven’t I, always?”

“Would that be the end of it? Or are you testing whether my resolve is still the same?”

Michel looked aroused at the all too obvious statement dressed in a question.

“(A choice without consequence is not a choice at all),” said Michel with a sinister grin on his face as if he was reciting an indisputable doctrine, “you know you can simply come back to me. You made it all so more interesting. You have proven yourself that you. are. a. true. rarity.”

Another huff escaped Elio involuntarily, “I see.”

All Elio could think was how horribly he left things between him and Oliver. He should have hugged him once more. He should have touched his face. He should have told him how he felt about him. Better yet, he should have said those three words, instead of making it as if it was Oliver who should have said it first.

_Don’t ever say you didn’t know._

Elio filled his lungs to its full capacity with weariness coloring his face. And his hand reached into his left suit jacket pocket and took out a scalpel. Michel’s eyes quivered lightly, though he tried to hide his surprise.

Michel clicked his tongue tartly, “(Didn’t we play this game already?)” his tone mocking and disdainful.

A sorrowful grin came on Elio’s face. A pause, “Ten years ago, I fell in love with you with all that I was, and with all I didn’t know I was. It was never. a. game. for. me.” A soliloquy without a blink or any movement.

“(Now, how is that monologue going to help you? Mmm?)”

Elio huffed ruefully, “I loved you more than anything in the world. Even your crazy.”

Elio lifted the handle of the stainless surgical cutlery. It was just an inch off the table. Michel clenched his hand but didn’t dare to reach or make any move. By then, Elio’s eyes were completely pinned out, his head tilting as though he was staring at something he himself couldn't quite understand what he was actually looking.

“I went against every cell of my body telling me that you were the right kind of wrong. The five years we were together, I gave all to you willingly. Even my sanity.”

Elio’s thumb extended and the tip of his fingernail reached to the edge of the neck of the scalpel. With a tiny pop, he pushed the clear cap open which was covering the blade within. The tiny cap landed right next to the plate with a muffled clink sound.

“If it takes my life to be free of the choice I made a decade ago,” he grabbed the handle with his index and thumb casually, fiddling indolently. Then he calmly and slowly flipped the scalpel around and held it in his half open palm. Elio tilted his chin away from the center of his body, slightly. Elio was gazing at his hand, though out of focus he knew exactly what he was doing. It was a bit like a trans-state. Like Michel said, he’d done it before.

Elio’s fingers rolled in, wrapping them around the thin metal handle. Then, Elio’s halfmast eyes lifted and turned to Michel. And he finally blinked.

“Then,” Elio placed the tip on his skin, “so it shall be,” and plunged the blade and sliced away in one shift motion. Though his motion subtle and low key, Elio succeed on opening his vein. Arterial blood squirted out with high pressure.

A shock, surprise, and terror came on Michel’s face all at once. As bright red blood was gushing out from Elio’s wrist, Elio let the scalpel fall onto the table. Indescribable mixture of expression on his face, Elio simply sat there watching it unfold. Was it a deep sorrow? Or an acceptance of the inevitable? As Elio felt he was fading, a profound sense of peace dawned on him. _Finally_ , he’d be free. _At last_ , he’d able to _breathe._ _again_.

At that very moment, Menny fought his way into the restaurant.

.

**At Elio’s office/condo**

“I really don’t know how he got his number. Menny and I made sure that Elio’s number is off the list,” Steph’s face was pale and her voice indicated how shaken she was as if it was her fault.

Elio gently reached out his hand and squeezed her hand. Steph and Elio exchanged a wordless conversation. Elio grinned softly with a tight smile. Under the table, Elio consciously pulled down the end of the sleeve where the hydrocolloidal bandage was. He sucked in an audible breath,

“It is completely over.”

Oliver sat across the table, his fingers aimlessly moving on the surface of his cup, every now and again. Elio muttered something under his breath and a quick dump of an exhale while lightly shaking his head before continuing.

“Five years of being with someone does carry some weight.” A short pause. Elio was now slowly rubbing the pads of his fingers, his gaze directed inward, “I’m not gonna deny that,” and he took a deep inhale. Elio’s throat bobbed nervously, “It would be remiss of me to even try.”

A blink.

“Not just because the industry that I’m in but ... because how devoted I was. Especially,” the last syllable trailed off and sounded more like a hiss. Elio then gathered himself after a hard swallow. A certain determined look came on his face. He took another deep breath and continued as he dumped out the air through his nose.

“For a long time, I blamed myself for many things on why the relationship had to end. But what I had with him wasn’t a relationship that never had a chance to bloom, explored, or lived. We had our chance. _He_ had his chance.”

Oliver’s well-defined throat waved. He was glad that Elio was telling his story with a past tense. A glimmer of hope. No, it was more of a confirmation; to the countless thoughts went through his head for the past several days. That those messy scenarios Oliver once held were not based on the truth but only his own self-torture.

A sigh.

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want this to come out at you like this,” confessed Elio with a pleading look on his eyes.

Millions of thoughts ran through Elio’s head since Oliver just sat there without showing any reaction to his long drawn out apology. The final thought popped into Elio’s head was whether he said this out loud enough for Oliver to hear.

“So… are you…,” Oliver cleared his throat tensely with a controlled yet fleeting cringe, “are we…?”

Before Oliver had a chance to finish his question, Elio voluntarily offered his answer: something in lines with ‘if you still want.’ As soon as those words left his mouth, Elio chastised himself internally. Oliver finally looked up and their gaze met. For that brief moment, Elio couldn’t hide his quickening breath. His ears were pounding chaotically with his own heartbeat. It was as if he was going to faint again.

Just say something. No! don’t say anything. I should have just flat out told you the truth right then and there. That midnight.

Fuck! I dragged this out too far too long. Please say you don’t care.

 _Please_ –

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –I’m getting the next one in order. If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to upload it in a day or two. *crossing my fingers and toes* No~, me-editor put the foot down and told me to cut where it is now with this chapter; _because_ of the length, NOT for a cliffhanger. *scout’s honor*  
> –with this AU, me-brain never specified exactly _what_ Michel was doing to Elio to push him that far, again. For as long as this was gestating in my logo vault, I still haven’t a clue what that is. *sigh*  
> .  
> As always, \Thank You/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> Do kindly remember to find your center and ground yourself, no matter the weather outside. Your mind, body, and soul deserve to be cared for and loved: especially by you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Oliver doesn’t know how Elio disentangled himself from Michel. But love is a funny thing. Because Oliver decides to trust Elio and his words of their entirety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**

Sitting there with his tea cooling in his grip, Oliver yielded his ears to Elio’s words. Why he looked a bit pale as if he has been stretched thin against his will, Oliver couldn’t understand. In all regards, what Elio was confiding (with the help of Connie and Steph) was an extended version or the aftermath of what he already shared at Sara Ana’s place. And that Elio had to take action to rid _him_ out of his life completely; that now Elio and Michel’s terrible saga was finally over. Yet, something in Oliver’s gut gnawed at him that Elio wasn’t entirely aboveboard with him. Not an outward lie but a crucial chunk of what had occurred to him during Elio’s unexpected hiatus from Oliver felt missing. What did this Michel guy do to Elio? Or is he trying to save me from the stark nature of the truth? No, he didn’t think Elio was in anyway roguish about Michel. His body language and micro-expression supported that. But there was something he was not telling Oliver. His face unobtrusively still, Oliver kept himself motionless, reeling over the words that came next:

‘If you still want.’ A hesitant, barely there prompt. Or was it a bidding?

Is he… running away? Why do I feel like he is about to slip away from me?

The tip of Oliver’s tongue darted out, only just, to wet his lips. He should take a sip but Oliver chose not to, and kept fidgeting his fingertips on the surface of the cup. No, no, no, don’t let your fear and anxiety get in the way, Oliver. You are here, _Elio_ is here. Oliver let himself breathe through; a technique he had learned while training with a Capoeira master. And the fog like pyro-static smoke that licked and lingered in his psyche from the moment he saw Elio slowly began to settle.

By the way Elio was holding his gaze, Oliver came to surmise and be assured Elio wasn’t actually reneging from them. At least, that was how he wanted it to be. Maybe it was Oliver’s way of self-effacing the inevitable. After all, two were completely different. How Oliver and Elio came to converge at the night in that alley, to think of it, was a mystery. And yet… human minds seemed to work in aberrant ways, even Oliver who had extensive training for his particular occupation. Awgh, damn the fear, fuck the anxiety. I trust you. Oliver subdues a sigh. With a soft determined expression on his face looking right at Elio, Oliver finally decided,

“Do you?”

There was something perilous about the way Oliver asked the question. Not just because this was the first time Oliver answered Elio’s question _with a question_. But because the air surrounding them suddenly felt compressed and remarkably leaden. Elio blinked; he was definitely taken aback.

The usual Elio would be able to pick a verbal quarrel with anyone: literally, with _anyone_. He could throw a quick quip with something that carried multiple meanings. Of course, without a doubt, purposefully adding little jabs. Not only that, despite the image that came along with his profession, Oliver could tell Elio was well-read: beyond any bureaucrat or academic he came au fait with.

“What~?” Elio simply shrugged when Oliver tossed a quick, ‘is there anything you don’t know?’ on early evening when he found Elio reading an old copy of his book he got while he was in Greece.

“I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get?” Elio remarked so nonchalantly, his index and middle fingers lodged in between the latter half of the book in his hand, “being a college professor’s son would do that to you.”

And he went and told Oliver that his father, Samuel, always wanted him to feel free to ‘talk’ their books and expertise around town. He also believed that people should learn how to speak to anyone, which was why Samuel always had lawyers, doctors, businessmen over for meals.

“Everyone in Italy has read Dante, Homer, and Virgil, he’d say,” Elio’s eyes looked as though he was drawn himself into his memory recalling those days with his father, “Doesn’t matter whom you’re talking to,” he continued. And Oliver gathered that Elio was doing his old man’s impression, “so long as you Dante-and-Homer them first.”

Then, he carried on and said Vigil came a must and Leopardi the next. And with a light thrum of his fingers in the air, Elio said, “and the feel free to _dazzle_ them with everything you’ve got: Celan, celery, salami, who cares?”

How Oliver would have loved to be sitting in the table with Professor Perlman and Elio. And yet, Oliver did probe Elio’s decision of becoming a model that he was. He chortled first, his curls flowing forward over his forehead.

“Ah––,” a sigh like lament feathered out from him first before he said, “Life has a funny way of putting you exactly where you are supposed to be.”

Such thing he says, Oliver thought.

So, it was no exaggeration that Elio’d always be the one who’d have the last word regardless of where the victory of that debate, (*cough* argument), lied. With Oliver, though, there has only been healthy arguments: agreeing to disagree without failing to contest each other’s view with unfettered honesty. Definitely a smart cookie, Oliver mused privately in his head.

Maybe laying his history bear to someone he loved made him feel out of balance, although Elio didn’t quite necessarily appear that he was out of any depth, per se.

Then a sudden calm dawned on Elio’s mind with clarity that now was time for him to spell it out. _Don’t ever say you didn’t know_. Or it’d perpetually end up being a missed opportunity of your life: marked as _the_ monumental mistake. Yet again, he felt rim of his eyes burning hot.

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

“Yes,” answered Elio. His lips scrawled as he was trying not to cry clenching his hands into fists under the table, though a thick drop of tear draw a quick vertical line along his cheek.

Oliver’s eyes widened at that.

Elio’s Adam’s apple rippled slowly and lifted his thumb to wipe the bottom edge of his right eye, before he repeated more clearly, “Yes, I want us.”

Oliver set his jaws briefly and let out a short sigh of relief. Steph and Connie were a bit startled when Oliver suddenly pushed himself up. But Elio gestured ‘it’s ok.’ And he too stood up from his chair and followed Oliver out, a couple of steps behind. Everyone else in the joining room stood stunned. When Oliver reached the front door, his broad back heaved quietly before he turned around. Elio’s eyes lifted upward as Oliver reached his arm out to him. Lightly bent at the elbow, Oliver's arm hooked around the full length of Elio’s shoulders and drew Elio in, Oliver leaning the side of his face onto Elio’s curls. In return, both his palms on Oliver’s chest, Elio closed his eyes and surrendered to Oliver’s embrace. They breathed together slow, as if the life had just returned to them. His chocolate brown brows drew in close and Elio’s right hand furled inward with Oliver’s shirt in its grip: quivering lightly. Oliver nuzzled his cheek, his fingers tracing their way gently yet steadily on the back of Elio’s hair. He felt his entire being thawing out within the sturdy arms of Oliver. With another sigh of relief, Elio knew he was going to be just fine. Right at that moment, as if to tell Elio he was feeling the same, Oliver hummed. And he gave a firm peck on the side of Elio’s temple and whispered.

“Cor Cordium,” and carried on giving himself a hard swallow before he said,

“I love you, Elio Perlman. And I’ll see you at home.”

It was typical of Oliver; no mention of when or how. _Come back to me regardless, no matter how long it takes._ Yet, Elio knew exactly what he meant. So he nodded, as the word ‘home’ rang true in his heart. Oliver gave a good squeeze and let go of Elio. Oliver quickly wiped his tears with the knuckle of his index finger before they had a chance to trickle along his cheeks.

.

Elio walked in with his shoulder bag. Though his movement quite natural and familiar, he couldn’t hide his anxiety. Twenty more days had passed since he last saw Oliver at his condo. From the moment he woke up at the hospital, Elio originally intended to wait a few weeks; to give his most recent sutures a time to set—not to mention the dust and the plumes to settle around his life. He didn’t want Oliver to know the part where he gambled his life like that. Because it wouldn’t settle well with most people. Gratefully, Oliver didn’t press any further that afternoon. Instead, Oliver held him close as he’d always been.

When Elio reached the top of the stairs, Oliver was wearing his Bluetooth headset. Elio’s nostrils flared seeing Oliver. A tight smile on his closed lips, he couldn’t help himself being overwhelmed by the myriads of emotions. Funny, how Oliver never fails to notice Elio’s presence. Oliver’s golden lashes casted low as his hand reached down to turn off his stereo. The headset came free off his head before it landed on the coffee table. Then, his chin turned hovering over his shoulder and his torso followed suit. And Elio was greeted with two blue eyes.

“Hey…,” said Elio quietly.

With their eyes on each other, Oliver sighed out softly and walked toward Elio. When he reached in front of Elio, he gently raised his left hand, traced his fingers softly on Elio’s wayward curls and let out a long-drawn-out controlled sigh of relief.

“Missed you,” said Elio low with another tight grin that disappeared quickly.

The corners of Oliver’s lips tipped up, only just, his eyes studying Elio’s face, as he tucked Elio’s rogue strands of hair behind his ear. Elio blinked, letting Oliver’s hand do his will as it gently cradled Elio’s head in his palm.

“I missed you,” repeated Elio like a confession, closing his eyes, and leaned into Oliver’s touch.

Oliver brought his other hand up gently in steadfastness. A subdued whimper like huff escaped from Elio. Oliver sighed at that, in ache and reprieve strangely mixed in one, and pulled Elio in close. Elio buried his face onto Oliver’s chest and with his voice damp;

“I missed you–, so. god. damn. much.”

.

* * *

[ Chapter Epilogue ]

In a private hospital room, Elio with nasal oxygen cannula stirred. He was in the middle of having a flashback as a night terror.

A series of choppy images flashed across; some of the recollection in the French manor where Elio first tried to kill himself. Some, of Oliver; him smiling, his mannerism Elio so loved. Some, of old memory of Elio’s parents; two together happy before their marriage fell apart. Everything swarved and he was back at the restaurant. Enough blood had left his body and all he was feeling was hazy calm. As he let himself feel fade, Elio’s unfocused eyes saw Menny, holding Elio’s wrist desperately with a linen napkin wrapped around.

“(How… how are you always here)?” Elio mumbled.

His eyelids weighed a ton. But he could make out some of the things going on in the establishment. Michel hysterically laughing while his personal details were escorting him out and people in the restaurant were trying to do something. Elio found himself chuffing, mostly at himself and the bizarre déjà vu, as his eyes kept closing on him. Call it a self-deprecation but this is comedy in essence, Elio thought. His head whirled nauseously as Menny seemed to turn Elio’s head to face him. Elio couldn’t hear as the high pitched zing rang in his ears aloud but he could make out Menny’s mouth saying ‘stay with me’ in slow motion. His heavy lids blinked again, and Elio saw Menny on the phone. And the next thing he saw was the fingers of his other hand reaching out so feebly to him. Hey, Menny, hey, man… it’s okay, Elio’s voice said in his head, it’s… okay. Everything is going to be okay. Menny’s head turned quickly and his mouth frantically repeated, ‘no, no, no, no, no!’

.

He didn’t know how long he has been laying there. Elio woke up slowly, his throat waving sluggishly. His head spun too fast making him too oozy but Elio manged to focus his eyes; to find Menny dozed off sitting by his bedside. At the bustling sound of sheets, Menny jolted himself awake muttering something in Southern Italian dialect: an involuntary reflexive response.

“(My God), Whew–,” Menny sighed, running his palm over his face.

Once he gathered himself, Menny offered Elio a cup with a straw. Elio raised his arm a little, the one with an IV line (his muscles there felt like it was pinching at his motion), and waved a ‘no.’

“I guess we are not telling him?” Menny murmured quietly.

Elio sucked in a breath. He was talking about Oliver. It was a statement and a rhetorical question Menny already knew the answer to, before he even uttered it. Menny simply said it out loud as if to remind himself. Menny grumbled some more under his breath. This time it was French. Elio squeezed his grip over Menny’s fingers in his hand. Menny clicked his tongue before he said, “(I know, I know).” Then, he rummaged his free hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out Elio’s necklace. Without a word, he placed it in Elio’s palm, closed his hand, and gave a gentle squeeze.

Disbelief, relief, pain, joy, sadness, appreciation ran through Elio’s face, his eyes glazing over with tears. Menny set his jaws and just sat there.

*

**Time Capsule: five or so years ago, back in French Manor**

Menny was parking his car and his smartphone indicator light just turned bright white. It was a custom setting for the voice mail notification Menny had set a while ago. He turned his wrist to turn off the ignition and thumbed the surface of his phone.

/ “(You have _ONE_ new voice message. To listen to your messages, press–)” /

A beep rang as he pressed the number automatically with his thumb which knew as a form of muscle memory without him having to use his brain cells. It was from Elio.

/ “A couple days ago, I found a rather large spider crawling down from ceiling, completely frozen when it sensed the light being turned on and a giant thing, me (Elio chuckled lightly), walked into the room. Naturally, I panicked, ran to the kitchen, opened one of the cupboard and quickly got an empty glass jar with a lid. When I came back to the room, it was still there: petrified in place. I led the spider in the jar. It took some coaxing. Once it was in, I quickly closed the lid. (Elio huffed in disbelief) The crazy thing was the end of one of its legs got caught while I screwed the lid. And I saw the spider tried to free itself. For some reason, for a split second, it look like it was in pain. I untwisted the lid a little, jiggled the jar until its caught leg was free, and re-closed the lid. You know me, instead of taking it outside right away to free it, I set the jar down. I know, I know, I let myself get distracted too easily. One thing led to another, forgotten all about the spider in the jar, I went to sleep. Yeah… I completely forgot about it ever happened. (Elio breathed in deep and sighed out long)

And this morning, I was rushing in to get my shade and found myself stumbling over that little jar. (Menny pictured Elio muttering ‘what the–??’ in his head) When I finally remembered why it was there, my heart dropped. So, I quickly lifted it off the floor just to find the spider made itself a home. Inside a fucking glass jar, (a sharp sigh) where I doomed and let it die. I rushed outside and let it out onto the corner spot of the lawn, half expecting that it would run away as fast as it could. (a self-mocking chuckles, his voice soaking with held-up tears) The stupid spider just stay there as if it was dazed and bewildered. Not knowing what to do. (Elio swore in Italian and French. Menny knew exactly when this might have happened. Because he had sent the house help to get Elio something to eat then). Even after couple of hours, it was still there. Even a few hours after that, I found it right where I left it. Of course not, it was still alive. It was free! The spider was not trapped inside the jar anymore. Yet, it acted as though, it had lost everything and in mourning.

The whole incident hit me hard, right here (Menny could see Elio tapping his palm on his chest twice) in the middle of my chest, with some bizarre emotion and realization. Maybe my life has been like that. Not knowing I was trapped in an empty glass jar. Thinking that it was a place for me. And believing that it was my new home. Weaved a nest for myself without realizing it was supposed to be the end of me. Slow, delayed death. Even when I was free, when the lid was off and I was on the green patch of grass, I did not know what to do. Feeling out of place, devastated, and mostly scared.” /

In slow motion, Menny’s phone hit the neatly laid brick floor as his legs were hurrying him away towards inside the manor. When his red bottom dress shoes turned the corner to Elio’s room, the angle came to focus on a limp hand, palm facing upward, with lifelessly curled open fingers of Elio on the floor.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Capoeira (Portuguese pronunciation: [kapuˈejɾɐ] or [kaˈpwɐjɾɐ]) is an Afro-Brazilian martial art that is part dance, part acrobatics, and part martial arts with music. It was developed by enslaved Africans in Brazil at the beginning of the 16th century. It emphasizes flowing movements rather than fixed stances.  
> .  
> As always, Thank you for reading, your time and interest.  
> Stay well and healthy: mind, body, and soul.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver’s pant-up anxiety of their separation surfaces in very unexpected way. And a little bit of how Vimini plays into this AU with ElliOllie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **G** at best

A stark shot of clean washbasin and a spotless bathroom mirror were viewed in still for a few seconds. An echo of stray drop of water from the faucet bounced against the walls in the atmosphere of grey blue hue.

_._._._

_“I missed you–, so. god. damn. much.”_

How good it felt to be in Oliver’s arms, Elio couldn’t find the words. He even took a couple of over-the-counter nasal congestion capsules so that he wouldn’t be a sappy mass. Because it should be a good day; because crying seemed out of place. As his chest heaved to level his slosh-n-swilling emotions, Elio’s nose finally caught the aroma of a freshly brewed coffee. His senses started to come back and his immediate thought began to wonder. That it was a bit late for Oliver to want a cup. Beside the Oliver he knew would go for herbal tea, not coffee.

“You must be Elio,” a calm nonchalant voice rang from the kitchen’s direction.

His face muscles moved in a way as Oliver was in one of the most relaxing state and someone who was just trying to catch a few winks. His brows soared toward his hairline, as if being startled from his cat nap and took in a sharp inhale, before a bit of awkwardness bloomed as a smile trying to disguise his revelation. Oliver too appeared to have forgotten the fact that there was someone else in his house. Elio looked up at him as Oliver loosened his arms around Elio, taking a step so that they’d be standing side-by-side.

Oliver kept one of his arms around him, resting his hand on Elio’s waist, “Elio. Vimini. Vimini. Elio,” and he leaned down and pressed his lips on Elio’s shoulder.

Elio’s body automatically leaned against him, his wayward curls clinging onto the top of Oliver’s head before he straightened. Vimini’s gaze tipped up briefly taking things in, as she lowered her nose around the rim of the giant warm mug in her hands. Elio immediately knew Vimini was from Italy or grew up in a household that kept the essence of Italian culture intimately. Because she gestured in a way Elio was so familiarly acquainted. A reaction or recognition of greeting not that typically of a female population (or was expected by most) but of someone who couldn’t care less yet who saw everything without missing any detail. It was a ‘hello’ nonetheless. Then, she sat herself down on the floor in front of an unmarked black laptop on the coffee table.

Oliver huffed at that to himself. And he ran his palms on Elio’s upper arm, up down and up, before giving a little squeeze around. Her eyes darting over on the screen in front of her, Vimini’s lips parted as if she was about to say something but Oliver gestured first. Vimini’s keen eyes caught it (as expectedly), motioned back that looked like a ‘be my guest,’ and returned her focus back to the 15 inch screen and buried herself on whatever she was working on with nimble yet fast clacking of the keyboard. Oliver tossed the top of his hair, tilting his head, signaled to the direction of his bed room. Oliver began walking ahead, his hand tracing an affection stroke over Elio’s waist to the entirety of the small of his back. An invitation that felt almost like a thick velvet cloth being wrapped around him. Elio dipped his chin a little as Oliver’s hand found its way to Elio’s elbow and brushed a gentle scooping pull along the underside of his forearm. When their palms glided over the other, Elio hummed. With his hand nestled warmly into Oliver’s, Elio followed him.

“What’s going on?” Elio asked quietly with a curiosity, with trust ince Oliver closed the door behind them.

“It’s just for precaution,” and Oliver (their hands still together) gingerly sat himself down at the edge of the bed. Elio tilted his head a little; he couldn’t figure out what Oliver meant.

“I can’t tell you how Vimini figured out that you’d be coming home today.”

It hit him. Yes, no one knew he was coming here. Even he didn’t know until an hour ago. His spontaneous decision after the buyers’ meeting abruptly ending earlier than expected. Elio stood in front of him, a step and a half distance that kept his arm stretched out (comfortably), looking puzzled, almost as though trying to connect the dots. Oliver filled his lungs and gave him a gentle smile before he said,

“Let’s just say she’s my eyes and ears.”

The pair of green hazel eyes widened, “… you mean… your job?”

Oliver nodded softly.

As if she knew Oliver just introduced her, the voice echoed through the door, “Is he ready?” Oliver let out a sharp exhale and grunted a little. Like that time Elio first touched the side of his ribs, the subdued umph sounded a lot like it was from a wound or bruise. Elio’s head tilted a bit farther.

“Trust me?”

Elio blinked. The way Oliver looking up at him, his large blue eyes unwavering was indescribable. So he went,

“Every way there is.”

Oliver gave a single nod.

Just less than two years ago, on the fifteen year anniversary of Aaron Swartz’s untimely death, Vimini was caught downloading massive amounts of documents from JSTOR and PACER. Just to prove her point that what a so called democratic nation with constitution should not do. She was only sixteen. It was Oliver who got her out of the deep end and recruited her as a part of his analysis team. And Vimini later found out what it took for Oliver to do so; it was Oliver who convinced her of obtaining higher education when she was so adamantly critical about established education system (she graduated with Masters from CalTech just last spring); it was Oliver who made sure her plea deal (or agreement) to expire in three years. Keep your head low, be smarter, there’s always a way to bend the rules without breaking them.

What an amazing story, Elio’s face said.

“You ready?” Oliver asked low with a soft smile. When they walked out to the living room, Vimini lifted her gaze from the screen for a transitory moment and offered Oliver an all knowing smile.  
_._._._

He never really liked taking a bath. ‘It’s cumbersome,’ Oliver thought while fidgeting his toes on the handle; to the left and to the right. Water would come out a bit then stop with a muffled shushing sound echoing from the pipe inside the wall. Although Oliver had purchased his current 80 inch double slipper tub himself, he seldom took a _bath_ bath. Ice filled soak for sure, if one’d call that as a bath. He’d rather go for a swim. Something about the chlorinated water that sipped into his skin after a long lap after lap, leaving a blatant trace of its distinct smell all over his body appealed to him. It was like sweating garlic after eating freshly made garlic pasta for a couple of days in a row. What he’d prefer though was the open sea. Nothing could match the feeling of cutting a wave after a wave of brisk and briny water of the ocean. No safety, no life guard, no smooth tile floor. Just the vast mature nature and him.

Air burgled on the surface of water as Oliver exhaled with his face half immersed.

He said, well, texted, ‘something came up.’ He added it was the last minute stuff. As expected, Elio called back, instead of texting him back. “I always prefer hearing your voice,” Elio said when Oliver asked him why he’d always call instead of texting back. He later found out _this_ _preference_ was only reserved for Oliver. (Menny had told him that it was like pulling teeth trying to get hold of Elio by phone, “He is like a slippery eel, I tell you, no pun intended.”) Elio said he was sorry Oliver couldn’t make it. He didn’t forget to add that he couldn’t wait to see him. Elio sounded so happy. He really did.

Fuck… here they go again, Oliver sighed, as his brain ran yet another flashback.

They were supposed to meet up for lunch. Having Elio back after almost five weeks of his absence, Oliver figured that they deserved a celebration—though paler and reedier with a fresh vertical scar that looked a lot like the one Oliver recognized what it meant and never had to actually ask was on his wrist. He was never good at those kinds of stuff. Having proposed to Elio like that, Oliver felt he was not prepared. Sure, he had his grandparents’ rings. A pair had celebrated their 60 years together before they passed on a month a part. Six decades together through thick and thin, ups and downs, Oliver pondered as his fingers marveled at two old wedding bands. But… Oliver felt he needed something more; that Elio deserved more. And he wanted to do it properly. At first, Oliver thought he ought to get one from one of _those_ stores: Dior, Cartier, Channel, you name it. Luckily, there was something on a show window that caught his attention a few days back. And for some reason, it looked like the one Elio would love.

Keeping the whole plan as a secret, Oliver asked about the possible exposure to paparazzi. Elio answered in very nonchalant way that it wouldn’t be an issue. Well, actually, his words were “I don’t fucking care.” Oliver was secretly hum-drumming all morning at work. The thought of seeing him outside seemed liberating. A sense of anticipation made his dry briefings bearable. Thankfully, the weather was not so bad or nice enough to have a lunch at the shaded patio outside the restaurant.

Oliver was actually standing across the street when he texted him. He looked so happy. Oliver couldn’t make himself be a part of something he was witnessing from a far. A tall, dark, young and handsome guy was next to Elio. Even from this distance, it was so easy for Oliver to tell Elio couldn’t keep his hands off of him. _They_ looked happy. During their brief phone conversation, Elio genuinely seemed happy. Watching him, distant yet close enough, with Elio’s voice on his ear, seeing him smiling ear to ear was suddenly so foreign to him. As if Oliver was watching one of French movies that was dubbed in English with the pretend French accent. Oliver hoped that Elio’s wide smile was because of hearing his voice not because of the guy next to him. Was I mistaken? To think that Elio just didn’t shrug off my proposal to him that afternoon?

Another series of bubbles broke the surface of bath water.

Whenever Oliver closed his eyes, he couldn’t help himself from baulking on the recollection of how Elio looked; stuck in an infinite loop. So Oliver opened his eyes immediately with a scowl on his face.

Oliver was annoyed. Yes, I am annoyed and frustrated. I pushed himself up in the tub. Tub water sloshed. And the wave returned to him with a less force as Oliver’s foiling induced momentum of wave was dumped once the water reached the overflow spout. Besides, neither Elio nor he had any follow up conversation about Oliver’s proposal. That it wasn’t just something he’d say; that Oliver really seriously meant it; and that he never thought about marrying with anyone until Elio. And… and… Yet only the murky churn of his perturbed psyche carried on.

“Something happened, huh?”

Oliver’s body jumped, his head snapping to the direction of the voice.

_How did I not hear him come in?_

Elio was leaning his back on the wall. Under his overfit sweater, Elio stood with his shoulders lax, his gorgeous chocolate curls slowly cascading over his forehead, and his face with an odd mixture of concern and adulation. The cooling steam in the air of the bathroom paused. Oliver didn’t answer. Elio’s long slender figure leaning slightly as he shifted onto his dominant foot, his chin hovering just above his shoulder, his gaze landed on Oliver. (One of Elio’s favorite) Long chain necklace with tiny pendants reflected the light shining through the bathroom window. Oliver swore, in his head, that he heard those little things clinked pleasantly like a crystal chime in the wind. _God…, He looked like he just came alive from a page of a fashion magazine_ , Oliver thought.

Somehow Elio knew that Oliver taking a bath meant that there was something bothering him. That it was something he’d have to pry out of Oliver; that he’d need to tread carefully no matter what the subject was. With an inaudible exhale, Elio pushed his back against the wall and walked towards the tub. Oliver simply blinked, his lids casting low. Slowly, Elio folded himself down and sat at the long edge of the tub before he tenderly reached out and held Oliver’s fingers. Oliver’s fingertips were wrinkly. An indication that Oliver was soaking in: Oliver was sulking.

“Would you like me to join you?” said Elio unassumingly trying to find a way in.

Though few and far between, it was customary for them—if Oliver was taking a shower, Elio simply joined him without asking. It was one of Oliver’s favorites. But not today. Elio looked as though he was being careful not to push Oliver the wrong way. Or else, he’ll clam up, Elio thought. And that was the last thing Elio wanted. Especially, after what he put Oliver through.

Oliver quickly replied, “I was just about to get out.”

Oliver scrunched his face fleetingly of how he just sounded. With a click of his tongue, chiding himself, Oliver pressed his foot on the stopper. Fuck, Oliver spat in his head as the tub water started to drain. His reaction probably came across as ‘nope, don’t even think about it.’ Oliver felt petty and childish. Yet, Elio didn’t say anything. Instead, he gestured ‘here, let me’ when Oliver grabbed the towel to dry himself. Oliver’s chin lifted minutely. No, don’t play a tug of war. You are not a child throwing tantrum. With reluctance, Oliver let go of his grip. How is it that it only takes that much of your touch I start to feel better? Idiot! The voice in his head echoed. _Idiot!!_ And all his frustration of witnessing the event earlier didn’t seem to matter. Missing him and longing for Elio easily triumphed his doubts. His scent. His steady green hazel eyes. His long eye lashes casting shadow on his cheeks. His collar bone peeking through the neckline of the sweater.

“Oof,” Elio let out with a chuckle when Oliver plopped himself on Elio like a teenager. Oliver sighed deep. Hours of brewing and stewing over were exhausting. He definitely _was_ pouting.

“Missed me, huh?”

Elio let go of the towel and scooped Oliver in close, giving him a firm hug. Oliver wrapped his arms around Elio’s waist. But just arms. Oliver wasn’t actually fully touching Elio. Crossed at the wrists, he hung his hands in the air at Elio’s waist level. Maybe trying to tell Elio he was still upset. Oliver felt Elio cradling him. And Oliver’s body decided to let Elio baby him as a punishment. Elio chuckled and said “O-kay” as in ‘I won’t ask why.’

And he didn’t. Two stood there until the pout and the uneasiness dissipated from Oliver’s body. It felt good. Just him and him. Breathing the same air. Feeling him close to his chest again. When Oliver nuzzled his cheek on the ledge of Elio’s shoulder with a large exhale, Elio loosened his embrace. Elio went out first, saying he’d get the kettle ready for Oliver’s favorite tea. He even added he’d put a bit more honey today.

When Oliver walked out drying his hair with a fresh towel, there he was again. That tall, dark, young and handsome guy, sitting in Elio’s chair at the table. Elio turned and smiled wide then said, “Oliver, meet Sebastian.”

The tall, dark, young and handsome guy stood up offering his hand. Oliver stood frozen until he heard the end of Elio’s introduction. “my son.”

.

After the brief awkward moment faded among them, three had a wonderful time chatting for an hour or two. Elio came home after giving Sebastian a ride.

“So you thought I was seeing another guy,” Elio tossed, clearly being amused. Oliver just nudged his shoulder against Elio’s.

“You were so darn cute. Didn’t know you pout.” Oliver started getting up but Elio grabbed Oliver’s arm and said, “okay, okay. I won’t make fun of you.”

And Elio told him about how he met Sebastian. It was a few years back when a hurricane disaster wiped out the entire territory of the United States.

“It was Menny who saw it as my image make-over. But when I got there, I just…,” Elio looked as though he could still remember the devastation and the horror of the aftermath.

“It’s a dead giveaway,” said Elio warmly while stopping’s hand palming down the top of his head. A habit whenever Oliver’d feel uncomfortable.

“Oliver…,” a warm breath escaped his lips, “You need to stop being so adorable.”

Elio leaned in slowly and laid his lips on Oliver’s. A caress. His long fingers were touching Oliver’s jaw line, only by finger tips. ‘This definitely is a tender Elio,’ Oliver thought. Oliver could only imagine it to be something very similar to what he was witnessing in Elio what it was to be a guardian of another human being. Oliver gathered that Elio being around Sebastian this evening a little while ago—something about Sebastian brought this side out of him; steady yet balanced. Something more than a big brother yet nurturing with utmost care and concern. At the same time, Oliver thoroughly enjoyed being treated like a porcelain doll. Having been a big lug since he was 15, it was something he didn’t think he’d experience. Being touched so delicately as if he was being worshipped. Even their first night together, Oliver remembered Elio led his first time as an equal. So he obliged and let Elio take his time.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked quietly with soft low chuckles.

Softly parted at the straight line down from his philtrum, Elio’s plump heart shaped lips wormed, “Trying to remember you,” his voice warm and affectionate.

Oliver motioned, reaching his better working arm for him, to stop Elio. With a closed lipped smile, Elio’s head tossed to flick the hair cascading over his forehead and sucked in an audible breath, “How long have we been together?”

Without missing a beat, his body slanted forward a little and paused in place, Oliver went, “Ten months twelve days,” and tipped his head down a little to look at his watch, “eighteen hours and forty five sec–”

Elio huffed briefly with a light tilt of his head, his brows gestured to signal Oliver, “then, trust.”

Oliver’s chest heaved and his chin dipped a little. Elio hummed softly and leaned in, only just so, and pressed his lips on Oliver’s eye, before he carried on. The tips of long slender fingers resumed mapping Oliver’s skin. A patient, deft movement after another. His gaze trailing gently over where his fingertips were, Elio breathed: as evenly as he could manage.

The sensory memory is a funny thing. Though it involves the five senses of sight, hearing, smell, touch and taste, it is only for a short term. A fleeting, very accurate, relatively automatic impression retention. Something one needs to do over and over again for the brain to build a long term memory circuitry. And Oliver knew exactly what Elio was doing. At least, the laundry list of training taught him a thing or two about it. Oliver was feeling his own heart beats vibrating through his bones and muscles; hearing his own lungs expanding and deflating through stretches and contractions of rib alignments and tendons. The prominence and depression of Elio’s fingerprints were creating barely there friction patterns of the most outer layer of his skin. Oliver even imagined the fuzzy micro hair follicles brushing under the ridges of Elio’s fingertips.

They had been intimate before. Many times. All of them clearly etched with heightened sensory memory. He was more than familiar with how Elio tastes like—the way his saliva thickened and condensed, and it would taste as though a gulp of water he’d take after his five-mile run: sweet and incredibly life-giving. And the salt of his body dewing up all over his skin, just to make his porcelain skin glisten in a way Oliver never imagined. And be awe at how he had never thought a man’s body would look like that. And the way his warm breath’d hitch, his long dark brown lashes fluttering so delicately; the way his half-mast gaze never faltered, locked in place. The way he’d cling on to him when he was close, his body telling Oliver never to let go. Both knew that: exceptionally crazily intimately. Yet, the way Elio was touching him felt as though it was their very first. Oliver could feel Elio marveling and admiring his entire existence with distinct sense of newness. How…? How can a person do that? Oliver wondered. Time stretched like a taffy under the mid-summer sun. Oliver’s heart was now thumping loudly in his ears.

In an effort to stay composed, Oliver only took a large breath. When the blink of his eyelids registered, Oliver’s eyes found Elio’s eyes being closed. When? Oliver pondered. When did the time snapped back to its usual speed? Mmph, his head tilted backward slightly as if something pulled Oliver by the back of his hair. A blatant evidence that Oliver’s body was responding to Elio’s touch despite him trying not to. Unbeknownst to Oliver, a secret grin colored Elio’s face. And he quickly shifted his focus back to his fingertips: exploring.

“Broken collar bone— Repaired shoulder ligaments— Broken rib...s—”

Oliver looked pleasantly surprised and amazed, “Impressive,” Oliver remarked, couldn’t help himself from smiling.

Elio chuckled lightly under his breath, not stopping the topographical exploration of Oliver, “a bullet–, and…a stab wound. Knife cuts, Wow… friction burn,” his eye rolled lazily under his eyelids. Elio breathed through his nose, “There are a lot of things you are not telling me, Uliva.”

‘Uliva?’ Oliver thought with a quirk on his lips, “like what?”

“I’d say you are quite good at hand-to-hand combat,” Elio’s throat waved, his fingertips were moving from the front of Oliver’s chest to the lines of his ribs, “all these are defense wounds.”

Oliver was never a type to get easily tickled but he had to subdue a giggle, admiring the whole state of Elio the way he was, “and how do you know if I may ask?”

Not missing the tease in Oliver’s voice, Elio’s eyes finally flew open and Oliver was greeted with two gorgeous green hazel globes. The individual fibers under the crystal clear dome pulled together, making his dark circle larger.

Elio smiled mischievously, “Posh here now, are we?” doing his best Queen’s accent, “yes, you may.”

Oliver breather, gently holding Elio’s chin with his softly clenched fingers, “seriously,” his eyes studying Elio’s eyes so intensely, “how do you know?”

Elio couldn’t help but to blink, “You, sir, are very ripped. Less body fat means it’s easier to tell,” offered a quick answer as if Elio was trying to get away with giving only that much.

Oliver’s hand guided and repositioned Elio’s face. Hey… please don’t look away. I like the way you look at me. So tender and so warm. And a sudden mixed emotion fell on Elio. What’s wrong? Oliver’s face said. And Elio’s eyes quivered.

“My mom,” Elio conceded before he broke his gaze off of Oliver, “She was a trauma surgeon before she decided to become a family practitioner, you know… she taught me how or I’d say _made_ us learn.”

The way he chuffed under his breath was… odd. And Elio added that after the pandemic, she figured it was best to evolve into internet based patient care, before he completely lifted his fingers from Oliver.

.

Though as unusually languid and tender Elio was, the late evening was quite exhilarating. Elio held him tight while he was rocking their body. He wouldn’t let go. He held his gaze on Oliver’s as if he was pleading not to stop. At the same time, Elio was ferocious and daring until his breath seemed to completely escape him. As if his desire was only reserved for Oliver and it was depthless and unquenchable: they were intertwined over and over. When Elio finally surrendered to the heavenly exhaustion, he fell asleep blissfully by Oliver’s side. As usual, Elio made sure his body was touching Oliver. Tonight it was his hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

Oliver was just lying there. He could definitely use a good night sleep. His body was definitely worn-out. But he couldn’t fall asleep. He was feeling so serene and calm as if nothing could shake him. It resembled one of the rare experience he had with a Tibetan monk. A deep meditative state. Just being. And it was simply enough. Just as is.

Then he suddenly realized that Elio bringing his son Sebastian and wanting Oliver to spend time with him today was a big step. Yes, a big one. In most part, Elio usually was abrasive, a bit impatient and somewhat of a typical celebrity who was used to being treated in a certain way; both good and bad. But Elio bringing Sebastian into _their_ lives was an indication that this thing, that Elio and Oliver have, meant something. He was putting a mile stone in their relationship. He was saying Oliver was a well-sized chunk of Elio’s life; that he deserved to know ten years of relationship with his son; that Oliver was _now_ his family.

“Huh,” Oliver let out quietly with a smile.

Elio rustled, reaching out for Oliver. ‘There’s my Elio,’ he thought. _My_ Elio. Oliver turned to scoop Elio into his arms. Oliver was finally able to conclude that his thirst to be back in the routine of something very familiar was the cause of his unnecessary frustration. As always, Elio buried his face into Oliver without waking up. He was _home_.

| | | FIN | | |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –Vimini’s back story is very techy and it is geared to reveal a bit of timeline of this AU. If anyone is interested in Aaron Swartz (the founder of Reddit), let me know and I will point you to the right direction. *smiley face*  
> –Dialogue napped from one of my favorite TV series. I own nothing.  
> –[clarification] Sebastien is not Elio's biological son. Their relationship started as a sponsorship and Elio decided to file for the guardianship after his divorce. Or so me-brain tells me... (funny thing is that this part was written way before the most recent U.S. territory disaster by mother nature.)  
> .  
> –I think... *mulling the thought over once more* I will post a similar chapter like I did with _And So..._ that lumps together all the vignette of this AU ElliOllie's story. Their wedding, Oliver motorbiking almost two hours to have a little nookie before his next big mission which makes him an occupant of ICU, etc. I still don't know how I would present their twin's story. Everything about this AU feels off and 'meh' now that it's out-out. *sigh* I think transcriber-me is broken... *pathetic chibi flop* oh, not fishing for well~*shrug*, anything *scouts' honor*  
> .  
> Most of us’s 2020, the tunnel may seem like it is going forever and it doesn’t look like any reprieve is coming next year, either. Something that feels very close to having no torch light or a lantern left by people before us as the events took place was unprecedented in our history: pitch black, endless chaos. Yet, the more power you give to the fear and uncertainty, the stronger they will cling on to your world and your psyche. Though I, personally, will not offer any promises or words appearing to bid hope (or blimey~ heaven’s forbid, solace), do please kindly continue to self-care and self-love: mind, body, and soul. Sending you all good firm virtual hugs.


	9. Extra Sum’-n sum’-n

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a made-up version of Blu-ray special feature of _Closer Still_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> each segment(scene) is independent. [ Translation ] they are not a linked one story.  
> .  
> 

**[ Here, This is Me ]**

All his gears and equipment were ready and neatly stacked. Only thing left was to be loaded. Everything else was thrice checked and the backups (and the backup of the backup) were good to go. Why he packed not just his grandparents’ rings but the little box early this morning, he couldn’t understand. Oliver was planning to cash in his PTO by accompanying Elio to France. This was going to be one of a rare franchise campaign Elio was invited to; with a lot of room for leisure in-between and all expenses paid. But, as usual, things went awry and Oliver wouldn’t be able to see him for 12 weeks.

‘Twelve,’ Oliver thought, slowly clawing his newly buzz cut head with all his fingertips. Despite his conscious effort, frustration that had been building up was escaping through his nose. ‘I just got him back,’ he mulled over the sentence, repeatedly. One phrase marquee-ing in an endless repeat in his head. It had only been a couple of weeks after Elio found his way back to him. The separation that Oliver thought it was going to be the end. An agonizing but now resolved separation made clear to him how much Elio was now a part of him. That he would never be whole without him in his life. But the schedule being slid opposite to a whopping twelve weeks was unreal. Elio and Oliver assured themselves early this morning that they would be okay. Elio posited that he might not need to stay that long and could come back early so he could meet up with him on the next port. Oliver promised that he would be in touch.

The phrase marquee-d again. I just got him back. And I didn’t get a chance to… Oliver tsked under his breath. His jaws bulging as he set his teeth, Oliver side-glanced towards his backpack. Awft, fuckit, Oliver spat in his head and walked towards the pile of his gears and fished out something before he pushed it into his pocket.

“Dude,” said his mate pointedly with a firm tone, implying ‘where the fuck are you going?’

Knowing there was a block of stand-by time, Oliver just tapped his pocket where he usually put his cell phone, on his way out without saying any. His teammates exchanged looks. But for some reason, Vimini responded with a look of ‘could you blame him?’ The other just sighed and nodded in an expression of ‘yeah, you’re right.’

.

Oliver on a bike in the highway was cutting through traffic. The fast moving reflection on his helmet visor wheezed by with no sound but his calm breathing covered under the padded head gear.

Mimi smiled with her usual shy-introvert sweetness each time her line of sight met with Elio’s. With his eyebrows raised slightly, Elio mouthed ‘what?’ with a distinct curiosity. Mimi just shook her head quickly. Elio thought it was a bit unusual but he refocused his attention back to the work.

It was a bit odd. Elio’s staff started acting more collectively. Menny being Menny was understandable and usual. But Steph appeared to keep reminding Menny of something for the past couple of hours: more frequently than usual. Well, in a bigger picture of things, that wasn’t at all out of ordinary. They have been, excluding Mimi, working together for quite some time (god, seven years) but in some occasions, extra communication amongst them was required to attempt the intervention; reducing Elio’s irritability before it happened. Elio concluded that his staff ‘knowing Oliver not being able to join him in Paris at the last minute’ must have put a premature warning on them. He felt bad. So Elio began behaving more civil than usual.

There was a bit of window in between and Elio told his staff that he was going to take advantage of an empty room on the same floor. This was another strange bit for today. Because according to his recollection from early this morning, the schedule sheet had a very little break in between. But he decided not to press about the issue since it would give him enough time alone to talk to Oliver.

Not knowing the detail, Elio was preoccupied on getting in touch with Oliver via text, hoping he could call him. He really wanted to hear Oliver’s voice before the comm black out. Elio was thumbing his screen without paying attention to his surrounding; not to the hallway or the inside of the room. He just walked in, closed the door behind him and didn’t even bother to look around the room.

Oliver just sat and watched Elio pressing his cheek against the phone. Just a moment ago, Oliver replied that they could talk. Elio walked across the room and stood in front of the wall-length window mouthing ‘pick up, pick up.’ Oliver couldn’t help but thinking how gorgeous he looked standing in front of the afternoon sun. Yes, he was done up for the shoot and the clothing fit him like it was made for him. He was perfectly content being a spectator of this. Oliver quietly got up and walked towards him. Elio did not notice. Oliver smiled at that. He reached over from Elio’s blind side and gently grabbed his upper arm.

“Jesus, fuck!” Elio said with a genuine surprise.

Oliver gently turned him around.

When their eyes met, “Hey…,” whispered Oliver with a wide smile and chuckles.

“How are you here?” Elio wrapped his arms around Oliver, hugging him in close, still stunned.

“I had to see you,” said Oliver burying his face in Elio’s neck.

“Mimi.”

Oliver simply replied with ‘mhm.’ He took a slow long inhale as if he was trying to breathe Elio in nuzzling his face against him. Oliver wrapped his arms around close and held in Elio tight.

“What am I going to do with you?” Elio asked softly into Oliver’s skin.

Oliver chuckled, nuzzling his cheek on Elio’s temple, “I can think of many things.”

Elio smirked at the corner of his lips, “How long do we have?”

“Long enough,” whispered Oliver.

Elio thoroughly enjoyed Oliver’s way of apologizing. His way of trying to make up for yet-to-happen separation. Although it was technically not his fault, Elio could feel how much he was going to be missed and longed for. With Oliver, it was always a mixture of rubberstamping and territory marking. Each time Elio knew to whom he belonged. He reveled in it. Oliver’s desire expressed in respectful, classy, slow burn yet intense exclaim of _you are mine, you are always mine, you will always be mine_ was breathtakingly intoxicating.

Sweat beads glistening over their bodies, Elio collapsed over Oliver, trying to catch his breath. Oliver ran his fingers through the wayward curls.

“Will Connie be upset?” Oliver asked low. He meant Elio’s messed up hair.

Elio simply hummed with amusement. How hilarious it was that Elio was covered in you-know-what with carrying the scent of ‘I was just fucked’ all over him and Oliver was worried about the possibility of Connie being upset about Elio’s messed up hairdo.

“I’m still going to remind you that it’s going to be 12 weeks without you,” Elio grumbled a little. Oliver just chuckled and continued on gently stroking Elio’s hair.

Oliver’s phone buzzed. Oliver and Elio both sighed. When Oliver was trying to get up, Elio went, ‘I’ll get it,’ and peeled his naked body off of Oliver’s. It only took a step and a half to reach Oliver’s jacket. When he was trying to get the phone out, Elio suddenly paused. It was a vintage Tiffany wedding band.

“…When did you get this?”

Oliver pushed himself up and set at the edge of the sofa. Gosh… I’m hopelessly in love, Oliver thought. Because the stark nakkid and completely debauched form of Elio was speechlessly stunning.

“Do you ever not strike a pose?” Oliver teased.

Elio clicked his tongue in a ‘don’t change the subject’ and repeated the question.

“… last week,” and Oliver gestured low for Elio to come to him.

When he did, Oliver took the ring out and placed it on his left fourth finger. Elio simply blinked.

“I saw it a few weeks back,” Oliver explained, “and I had to get it,” studying Elio’s face, “uh…, hang on,” and he knelt down and fished out the pair of simple gold bands. And he began telling Elio of the story behind them. The one that belonged to his grandparents. Elio stayed quiet.

“Uhm… is it…?”

Elio sucked in a breath through his parte lips, “…What am I going to do with you?”

Oliver didn’t know what to say to that. Right at that moment, Oliver’s phone buzzed again. It was a repeat reminder thing.

“Oh, right,” Elio shook his head a little and offered the phone to Oliver.

Oliver took a sharp inhale, not checking the message: waiting for an answer. The answer.

“You goose,” said Elio softly looking up at Oliver gently tracing Oliver’s tighten jaw line, “I didn’t hear the question. But yes. Yes, I will marry you.”

Oliver dumped out his chest and pulled him in close.

Damn phone buzzed again. Oliver mouthed ‘sorry’ without letting Elio go.

“Oh, fuck! Are you gonna be in trouble?” Elio asked after taking a glance at its screen.

“Don’t care. You come first,” replied Oliver without missing a beat. Oliver thumbed on his screen ‘ETA 1700hrs.”

“You drove two hours?” said Elio fondly with a look of surprise and a tiny bit of mischievous smile. Another example of how far Oliver would extend himself for the sake of Elio. Whether Elio was aware of how possessive Oliver could get, trading whopping two hours for less than a quarter of it together, no, correction, it would take him two hours to get back so… it would now be less than one eight of it. A quiet but sharp exhale cycled through him. And Elio made a mental note _again_ not to have Oliver sacrifice too much and that he would be careful what he’d ask of him.

Oliver answered with chuckles instead, then added, “bike.”

“My Uliva on a motorcycle,” Elio mused with a grin, “that’s a turn on I didn’t expect.”

‘Ooo~ Would you look at that?’ Elio’s face mused on how good the ring looked on his ring finger, leaning close to Oliver, showing the back of his hand to him. Oliver simply pressed his lips on his unruly curls.

Elio just watched Oliver getting ready. Only the comfortable silence filled the room. Maybe two were trying to enjoy each other’s company and soak in the fact of occupying the same space and breathing in the same air was more than enough. Once ready, Oliver reached his hand out standing in front of the door. Elio got up and interlaced his fingers into Oliver’s, in slow savoring increments. Left hand over left. Only difference was a tiny glint on Elio’s fourth finger. Oliver pulled Elio into his embrace. Once out the door, with their hands on Oliver’s chest, he wrapped his other hand around Elio’s waist. And Oliver held him close as they walked down to the hallway. It was such a short walk. Though one slow step at a time, it was even shorter. Oliver pressed on the button with the back of his bent index and third fingers. Elio took in a large breath. To that, Oliver laid a gentle kiss on Elio’s temple. Elio sighed out a subdued groan. They didn’t want this moment to end. But both knew it must. Oliver pulled the edges of his closed lips, offering Elio a grin. Elio nodded, casting his eyes low.

“Let me know when you land,” said Oliver with his eyes saying ‘please do.’ Elio’s heart melted at his pleading eyes that reflected his own image.

“Even if I don’t, you have Mimi,” said Elio. Oliver gently bumped his forehead against Elio’s, at that.

“I’m kidding,” retorted Elio with a smile.

“When you have time…”

“(famous local only pastry shop’s name in Paris), I remember,” Elio replied with an assuring tone.

Elevator dinged.

“I love you.” Oliver gave Elio a light kiss, brushed his hands on Elio’s upper arm and got on the elevator then pressed ‘close.’

“I love you more,” said Elio

Oliver smiled wide and two halves of the metal door met in front of him, taking Oliver away from Elio.

.

| | | END SEGMENT | | |

\----------------------------------------

**[ You, Me, Us ]**

Elio ran into the hospital. His usual wayward curls wind swept, his face drained of blood. His hurried strides took him into the floor of a busy ER. The call was brief. The instruction from a female voice was ‘I’ll text you the address.’ He thought it was Vimini but there was no chance for him to verify who the caller was. At the receptions desk, Elio asked around while trying to keep his composure. He never imagined the knot he felt in his stomach 16 weeks ago was going to end up him standing here. The female voice over the phone said Elio must come alone. She asked not to tell anyone where he was going. Ever since the pandemic a few years back, the protocol for majority of hospitals had changed. The place became so much colder and distant. Elio was finally able to talk to a nurse who decided to spare her time. Elio took out his ID to prove who said he was. Nurse said that there was no one named ‘Oliver.’ His heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He literally was hearing his quickened breaths in his head. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep his level-headedness.

“Elio Perlman?”

“Yes?”

Elio turned his head to where the low voice originated from. He didn’t notice someone had approached him. Elio couldn’t help but to tuck his chin in a little to find that the voice belonged to a buff military-cut man. The guy reached over and took the ID from the nurse who gave Elio’s ID way too willingly. He set his jaws while studying his ID. For some reason, the nurse appeared to take a quick glance up at them before making herself busy as if she was instructed to ‘not’ see. Elio’s eyes darted nervously, his chest bellowing with his accelerated breaths.

“Mr. Perlman, Follow me,” the burly guy said without giving Elio a chance to show his acknowledgement.

Elio followed him without even him thinking to attempt on asking any questions; he couldn’t dare. Something about him was non-negotiable. Two passed a couple of restricted sections and got on to an elevator that would only whirl _after_ the guy swiped his wrist, which appeared to be some sort of a special access device. Elio found himself repeating ‘please, not the morgue. not the morgue.’ On the corridor, they passed a couple of military/police looking service folks in uniform with an ear piece who exchanged a slight nod as the burly guy walked by. When they reached in front of a room, there was no name on the door.

_._._._

The face was covered in a dirty rag and the bucketful of water was pouring onto and over the rag covered man’s face. The guy in the restraint tightened his grip as his body vibrated vigorously due to the lack of oxygen. The empty bucket clattered to the floor as the man standing over him looked at his watch. It must have been a while as if they didn’t expect this prisoner to last this long.

“(You make me sick),” spat the foreign man with the mask, taking the filthy rag off of their prisoner.

It was Oliver. He immediately and desperately gasped for air. His face swollen, cuts everywhere, looking completely exhausted yet he offered a cynical smile, “Why don’t you stick your finger down your throat,” he coughed, “it’ll make you feel better.”

_._._._

Oliver woke with a jolt. Muffled sound was coming from the other side of the door. His eyes took a moment to focus. Then he realized he was in a hospital room. He sighed. It was a dream. The beeping sound came to focus at its normal level and the whirring noise started with the rising pressure on his upper arm. He also noticed that the cold air was from the two small tubes in his nose. When the thick wooden hospital door slid opened, Oliver’s blurred vision could make out it was Elio. His body, his entire being, sighed at the sight of him. And the strange sensation of relief rippled through him.

.

Oliver was awake. Elio’s nostrils flared, the rim of his eyes swiftly turning hot. Oliver was alive, Elio thought, his closed lips waved as he held back his tears. He felt his body losing its strength to stay upright. So Elio swallowed. He was relieved and glad to see Oliver’s face brighten up at the sight of him. Oliver never failed to show how he really felt about him. Even in this terrible condition. As if Elio was the first thing he saw when he became conscious, Oliver smiled.

His bed half-way tilted up, Oliver was hooked up on several machines. Before he entered the room, the burly man said that Oliver was in induced coma for the past three days. But he was in stable condition since this morning. He added that it was not a protocol to invite non-family member but there was a signed affidavit. Elio didn’t ask what that meant; he just wanted the man to stop talking and open the door. One of Oliver’s eyes was heavily bruised, bulging, and in the color of nasty purple. On the same side, his ear was bandaged up. And the swelling, Elio flinched. He was a live demonstration of the image he once saw in a movie about a boxer after a heavy bloody match.

Maybe because of bewilderment or a shock, Elio just stood there. He simply couldn’t take another step. His entire being was engulfed by the sound of his own breaths. It was clear Elio was stunned and in some sense, in shock. The guy shut the door behind Elio. And his body jumped at the sound of the metal latch and the thud of the door. So the time does stretch, Elio thought trying to gather himself. His mouth gaped, Elio’s eyes darted looking around, standing still. He is okay, he is alive, Elio repeated to himself in his head. That was when Oliver reached out his hand. As if that gesture broke the spell, Elio’s body tipped his chin a little. His throat waved hard.

“Sorry if you were in a middle of a shoot,” said Oliver his voice crackling and hoarse, trying to smile a bit.

“Fuck. That’s what you are worried about?” Elio kneaded his eyebrows, walking toward him.

“There’s my Elio,” said Oliver letting out a sigh with a smile.

Elio noticing Oliver’s all too apparent exhaustion, slow blink of the eyelids that usually followed _after_ a heavy dosage of pain killer, on top of him breathing with much difficulty. When he came close to the bed, Elio could feel the heat emanating from Oliver’s body. He sat his jaws. Oliver’s body was in high alert, screaming for help. Only he was so drugged up to notice it. Elio wanted to hurt for him instead. The avalanche of anger, fury and rage he never knew he could feel was flooding over him, with an inexplicable mixture of reprieve and joy. It was overwhelming.

“Your mother put me as your emergency contact. I guess this is what it means,” Elio remarked quickly wiping away a stray tear that escaped his eyes.

“Sorry you had to find out this way,” answered Oliver, his voice fraying at the end. ‘Has he been strangled?’ Elio thought, noticing a bruise line under Oliver’s Adam’s apple.

Trying not to focus on the detail but on the fact that Oliver was back in States alive, Elio went, “Did you see any cute male nurse?”

At that, Oliver couldn’t help but to laugh though he consciously tried not to. And the machines attached to him started beeping. The burly guy and one more burst in. A male nurse. Oliver pfft-ed; Elio nudged. Oliver mouthed a quiet ‘a-ow’ Oliver hand-gestured and two men came in both furrowed their eyebrows before closing the door behind them. Two were alone again.

Oliver gestured Elio to come up, flinching while trying to scoot over to make room for Elio. Elio carefully lifted the line after line that were keeping Oliver alive before he leaned in. Once Elio was lying next to him in his arms, Oliver’s face relaxed and let out a long sigh of relief.

.

Oliver woke up because of the unceasing cellphone buzz. The room was only lit by the low light over the wall frame in the middle on the back of Oliver’s bed, to help nurses for checking vitals and such.

“Baby,” Oliver called quietly, his voice low and rough giving a short pause, “Elio,” repeated Oliver, gently waking up Elio.

“hmm?”

“Your phone.”

“oh…,” Elio rubbed at his eye, trying to wake up, “fuck… I’m sorry,” he added fishing out his phone, squinting at the screen, “it’s Menny,” with a grunt, Elio muttered, “hm, shit.”

“It’s okay,” said Oliver with a nod.

.

On the day Oliver was being released from the hospital, Elio was packing things into his suitcase.

“You can’t do this to me, Elio!” said Menny following him behind.

Elio was going through some of the designs, putting signatures on some papers. The place looked like after a wrap of a photo shoot. People were putting things back into cases and staff was cleaning up.

“(You put me through this twice before. Honey, Sweetheart)!”

“Menny, I asked you not to call me by those names. Besides, Steph, Connie, and Mimi are already used to it.”

“You know I can’t do the crowd control there. What if TMZ gets the whiff of it? Esquire? What then?”

Elio was talking to his other assistant, ‘not this one, I like the other one.’ Steph brought something over and touched Elio’s shoulder walking away. Elio said ‘Thanks, Steph!’ on the back of her head.

“Let’s face it, Menny. As much as I love you and appreciate all you do for me, you are the one who is more ‘diva’ed out than I am.”

Crew nearby heard it and puffed out the laugh. Menny shot them a mean look.

“And you can no longer walk in on me,” continued Elio finally meeting his eyes with Menny.

“So, No spare key?” said Menny sighed, shook his head and closed his cell phone cover. He said ‘key,’ not code or card. ‘All knowing Menny, hard at work!’ Elio thought. His face expression said he knew that there was no way Menny could convince him otherwise at this point. Elio responded mouthing ‘nope’ shaking his head. Menny rolled his eyes.

“Then. Is this serious?” said Menny with a ‘I-know, I-know-the-answer-but-I’m-going-to-ask-it-anyway-because-I-can’ look.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Don’t know? (Northern Italian regional curse words),” Menny spat sitting in front of him, “you never ask Tom that much favor. I’m not even gonna say anything about the fact that _the_ Tom Ford just ‘okay’-ed and lend you his private jet.”

It was Elio's insistence that Oliver recuperate at his father's summer villa in B. And Tom Ford who adored Elio since the early days of his career didn't even ask why Elio needed to use his plane without much notice. "You owe me nothing, darling. Who knows? Maybe you will name a son after me," was all Tom said over the phone.

“As I said, you _can_ visit. Who an earth will stop you from doing so? huh? Alas, Miranda and little Ollie are there. So sorry no spare bedroom. Beside you know this place cannot function without you,” Elio said with mock-praise, harmless but with a bite to it nonetheless.

“Tesoro,” Menny’s face went still as he took in a meaningful breath, “(you haven’t answered my question).”

It was Menny’s serious tone. So Elio paused.

“I said, yes,” Elio filled his lungs and gave a beat before he turned around, “he asked me to marry him and I said ‘yes.’ So yeah, Menny. It’s serious.”

.

| | | END SEGMENT | | |

\----------------------------------------

**[ Deh Day ]**

Letting his staff plan for a little party after the ceremony was, in strict sense, Elio’s way of surrendering. Besides, Oliver seemed to have all of Elio’s crew, including Menny, under his enchantment per se. Mimi said in her shy introverted-ness that she heard Steph and Connie saying Elio became much easier to work with _after_ he started seeing Oliver.

It was a small and short ceremony. And a dinner and a reception followed. Well, rather a small casual party. Elio’s favorite caterer volunteered to host the reception. The food was exceptionally delicious. She made a cake for them as a surprise gift, though she doesn’t normally whip out her baking skills to the public.

Oliver wore three-piece suit Steph insisted he should. Elio was beginning to wonder whether she had more power over him than Elio ever will. Because the moment they came back from B, Steph began bringing goodies for Oliver. The samples, the freebies the brands send over for Elio to take a photo for his Instagram. As she had knack for picking out the good things to keep, Steph became a big sister Oliver never had.

Elio and Oliver were sitting at their table, Oliver’s grandparents ring on their respectable fingers, enjoying their close friends and family celebrating their union. After several party dance music, Elio perked up at the music that followed, with his undone bow ties hung around his half open shirt. He bellowed across the room to Menny, “did you plan this?” his cheeks blushing slightly. On his eleven o’clock, Elio’s eyes caught Marzia’s boyfriend nudged her to move forward, which meant that she didn’t know either. When their eyes met, Elio was saying something in lines that he was not dressed for it. Marzia gestured something in Italian and Elio waved at her in ‘oh, come off it.’

Oliver didn’t know what was going on; his brows raised in joyful curiosity. The DJ kept playing the intro part of the music until Elio stood up, half self-conscious, half-excited with a wide smile. Then, he took off his suit jacket and joined Marzia in the middle of the floor. His close friends and Menny whooped aloud.

“It wasn’t me,” said Marzia when two met in the middle, smiling happily, standing in front of Elio.

Elio just shook his head, still grinning wide. Oliver watched as the inaudible conversation between Elio and Marzia that were being exchanged. With a nod, two stood close to each other and put their foreheads together, then paused with their ready stance. The room fell silent and the DJ then started the song from the beginning.

Bachata.

For about a minute or so, two danced as if they were telling a love story. Except for the barely-there hold on the back of Marzia’s mid-back with Elio’s fingertips and Marzia’s barely-there hold around Elio's shoulder, the touchless yet incredibly sensual love was pouring out of them.

Oliver, having never seen Elio dance, was mesmerized; completely blown out of his mind. And he wondered how Elio was able to express such emotions with his body movements alone. Elio then began the movement of separation and reached his hand out to Marzia’s beau, gesturing him to take over. The basic rhythm of the Bachata continuing between them, Elio and Marzia was now dancing two steps apart. So Marzia’s boyfriend got up. When he walked to take Marzia into his arms, she gave a peck on Elio’s cheek before letting him go.

Elio mouthed, ‘Jesus fuck, Menny,’ with a wide smile as he walked to the side. And Menny mouthed something while gesturing over to his left, then Elio looked towards Steph and mouthed, ‘you too?’ Steph shouted with a big smile, one of her hands cupping the side of her mouth, “guilty as charged.”

Elio asked Oliver to joined him on the floor. Menny nudged Oliver up so he acquiesced with a nervous smile.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” Oliver mused quietly

“I don’t,” said Elio still blushing happily, standing close in front of him.

“I don’t know how…”

“Here, I got you,” Elio smiled up at him, “you be my frame and I’ll do the rest.”

Elio showed him the basic steps. Oliver fumbled a bit but caught on pretty quick.

“Okay, (there you go), just keep that beat. One, two, three, up, two, two, three, up. There.”

Then Elio started dancing with Oliver. He just let the music lead him. At first, Oliver was busy focusing on this basic steps but he couldn’t help being immersed in Elio’s movement so close to him. Barely touching but it was more intense than any touches he had ever felt. Elio circled around him and wrapped himself around Oliver facing forward together, having Oliver’s arms caress him, stepping the same way. His hands reached back, Elio’s left palm gently pressed against Oliver’s hips bone, his temple against Oliver’s temple with his eye closed, the other arm wrapped around Oliver’ shoulder right under his neck. Oliver followed Elio’s lead and leaned against him following his hip movement and steps; they were now making infinity waves. People in the room whooped. Mimi covered her face turning red. It took Oliver a while to notice that the guests were watching them dance. Marzia, cooing on the side of how wonderful Elio and Oliver looked, told her boyfriend Elio doesn’t usually do that to anyone. Soon the music ended. Menny finger-whistled and everyone in the room clapped out loud.

“God… you’re amazing,” Oliver confessed, his voice enraptured.

Elio smiled as he nuzzled his cheek against Oliver, “We’ll pick this up later tonight,” whispered delicately and breathlessly into Oliver’s ear and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek.

.

| | | END SEGMENT | | |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, yesss, I'm a little s**t (yes, I admit it... hehehe) and you c'n tell I have _a lot_ more tucked away with this AU. No, I swear I didn't CMBYN this AU too much since it has been hibernating way before CMBYN, except for key phrases and minor stuff (and the Tom Ford private jet thing being specified here was from the extended verse where before it was one of super famous designers.)  
> .  
> As always, \Thank You/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> Do please kindly stay healthy and continue self-love and self-care. We need every single one of you. *prayer hands with sincere head bow*

**Author's Note:**

>  **[Special Thanks to]** : (alphabetical order as the King Arthur’s roundtable style may be a tad too dramatic LOL. This has always been my tradition, and I update this list on each fic, periodically.)  
> 181178ads,  
> BBMarcello,  
> Chrisaki,  
> Dm07,  
> emstrange,  
> farfallina84,  
> icewine47,  
> ilovelife19,  
> Karinb,  
> Katmreitnour55,  
> Kittenpurple,  
> KoOkOo_523,  
> lizainthesky,  
> Lovelysoul,  
> lycanus1,  
> Malwa,  
> Mandvi,  
> MedriKylara,  
> MickeyC44,  
> Neetsu,  
> Parna,  
> Peachy_428,  
> PJOisLIFE,  
> redenodersterben,  
> Ri,  
> s17,  
> SophieAlice,  
> Trevmeistr,  
> valgal,  
> Volmarto,  
> +  
> those who subscribed, bookmarked, and all anon who sent kudos--!  
> .  
> 


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